La Dame Blanche
by BritCat - Twilight Sassenach
Summary: Claire is from this decade, a fresh widow, and a series of unlikely events has her land almost literally in the lap of our Jamie. The usual chaos ensues.
1. Chapter 1

I wasn't a very likely candidate for a photo-shoot. At least - that was what I had maintained before ever setting foot in Inverness. I had lived an unusual life so far, but had managed to stay away from anything involving a camera, save the usual government ID shots, and my civilian wedding photos. I could carry in one small book, all of the photos that had ever been taken of me. Frank and I had lived through experiences, rather than on any social media. Part of me wished that we hadn't, that I had more of him to bring with me now, save the single posed shot of us holding our wedding certificate, outside of a Registry office in Scotland, and the one of him in his full uniform, just before he had deployed.

We had married young. I was only 18, and he 21, but he had joined the army, and was about to be sent away for an indeterminate time. Marriage had felt like the only way to keep ourselves joined. It felt like a promise, from him, that he would return to me, and that I would be waiting. I had gone into a biological sciences degree as a precursor to med school, and essentially minored in history, to keep the memory of my Uncle Lambert safe and close. I had buried myself in my studies, picking up as many useful skills as I could, on top of the barrage of ones Uncle Lamb had inflicted upon me as I grew. That's what kept me busy, and my mind off of my dutiful and absent husband.

I began to realise that although I was busy, I felt a sense of uselessness that stayed with me, looming over me, like the threat of a death sentence. So I had begun to volunteer abroad. It was in those days that I saw my worst sufferings, and discovered my greatest passions. My university roommate, Joe Abernathy - a skilled herbalist, linguist, and journalist, and me, the biomed major with the historical and cultural knowledge, made an incredible team, but during that time, we rarely thought about pictures.

Being trucked around villages in remote and arduous locations were hardly moments for selfies. I believe that once, a tourist had stumbled across us in a village we were helping in Sudan, and had asked for a photograph. Even then, I had asked in return, that I be the one to take the picture. It was if I had unconsciously chosen to remain a ghost.

There were almost no traces of my life in any physical photograph. Perhaps that was the reason I had agreed to this preposterous and unusual activity. Or perhaps it was for Frank.

 _"You really have the most beautiful smile. If I could, I'd burn it to my retinas, that I could see it all the time."_

 _"You'd be blind then." I had pointed out, sticking my tongue out at him. His picture on the screen had frozen for a moment; the internet was bad where he was._

 _"I'd be happily blind." he had retorted, and then I was rewarded with a freeze-frame of his own smile. "Seriously though Claire. I'd make a calendar, just of you. You could dress up in different costumes for each month."_

 _"Hmmm... Cupid for February? St Patrick for March, obviously. Perhaps a winter ice queen somewhere? Father Christmas for the holidays..."_

 _"And for April a bunny." he had nodded, quite seriously._

 _"An Easter bunny?"_

 _"A playboy one!" He had laughed._

That had been one of our last conversations. A week later I had received a letter. It was the letter that no army wife ever expects, and yet is always waiting for. Joe had driven me to the hospital that night. He had been so worried about me that he had cancelled everything he was doing for the next month. I had sat, numb, and unaware of what was happening for a long while.

Frank Randall was dead. I was a widow. I had felt barely married, and now I had to come to terms with the loss of the man I had promised the rest of my life to. I had triple-timed my workload, and my sleep was minimal. Joe had to physically trick me into arriving at his house for Christmas dinner. I had become a mirror of the person I used to be. A perfect robot. Perfect diet, perfect exercise, perfect work record. Nothing broke me. Until I was sat down beside Joe Abernathy's good old grandmother.

I couldn't describe her to save my life, except that she looked like a much older, wiser, and female version of Joe.

 _"You ain't lost a spouse. You lost a life. All that potential. Everything you thought you was gonna be is gone. That's who you're grieving. Not him." I had recoiled in shock and horror, unsure what to say to the awful old woman spinning her selfish tales. "It's alright child. Everything you thought was going to be with him. It's all gone. You've lost two lives, not one. But now you're throwing away more than that. You're killing your new life. Each time the good Lord closes a door, he opens a window. He mighta pushed you out of it, but you're going down that new path now. Except that you're kicking and screaming instead of being grateful that there ain't a dead end for you too."_

 _"Nana..." Joe had warned._

 _"Don't Nana me. You say this girl is your sister? Does she even know you have a lady in your life? I'd bet not."_

 _I had blinked, quietly stunned as I looked at Joe. He hadn't told me. With the amount of time we spent together I should have at least noticed._

 _"Oh Joe... I'm so sorry."_

It was only after that conversation that I'd managed to snap back into reality. I finally cried, although it had been at least a year since Frank had died. I had cried right there, at his family Christmas. Nana had smiled like she'd pulled back the rock that revealed Jesus. It was in fact, Nana's idea to come out here. Frank hadn't wanted me to come alone, and so we, and his gorgeous girlfriend Anna, had traveled from London, to Scotland. It was where I had met Frank. Where I had married him. It seemed only right that it was here I should say goodbye to him. We had strayed into the Scottish Highlands to get as far away from anything that could keep me busy as possible. It only half worked.

We were staying with a Reverend Wakefield, who had lit up at the sound of my name.

 _"Claire Randall? You wouldn't be at all related to Black Jack Randall would you? He's something of a story-like villain up here in this region. Our own little oddity you might say!"_

He had begun to spin a tale of wonder about the good - or rather not so good - Captain Jonathan Wolverton Randall, and how no matter what complaints were lodged against him, he had been promoted, or moved around to better commands with more prospect of pilfering, rape, thievery and other general disorderly conduct.

 _"I've always thought that he might have had a prominent beneficiary, someone to keep him safe, and out of the reach of the law, but can't prove it to save the life of me."_

 _"And you think this man is related to me? Or to my husband?"_

 _"I'm a historian, my dear. I love delving into mysteries. It's only been a little over 200 years, I'm sure we could trace the lineage!"_

And that was how I had spent my holiday. Joe and Anna had left the Reverend and I pouring over old books, and traipsing across old ruins. He had driven me to Fort William, and to a nearby Keep called Leoch. Whenever we passed buildings, or even stones of note, he'd chip in words of knowlegde. Here the English ran ambushes, here the Scotts could have taken refuge. Here was the field on which Prestonpans was fought. Here was Culloden, the end of all. I had collected some herbs and flowers, but mostly, tried to piece together everything I could have discovered about Frank's family, and the time period, in order. The Reverend was a calming, and perplexing man, full to the brim of information. He kept my mind free and busy. Something I found exceptionally funny was that despite his religion, he was still an observer of a number of pagan rituals.

 _"Superstition is ripe in the Highlands my dear. You will never find such a blending of old and new as you do here. Ghosts run awry, the wee folk are seen on a daily. It's all I can do to keep a saucer of milk on the step by the church to remain in favour of the faeries. Else, I'll never see half my patrons again."_

It was that conversation that had sparked Anna's interests. I had gotten to know her better over the journey together, and found her a fitting match for Joe. She was as full of wit as he, and as much imagination as he had roots. She was an arts major, into photography, makeup, theatrical arts, and even designed her own costumes for events like halloween. She - with the help of Mrs. Graham, the Reverend's housekeeper - had delved into the stories of the wee folk, and the superstitions she could use in her own artwork and portfolio. It was with that interest that I found myself in the precarious situation I was now in.

Anna had gone mad. In a few days she had whipped up an incredible costume, using me as the mannequin for most of it. I wore it more than my own clothing for one day, while the Reverend and I talked history, she sewed details, and fitted, and hemmed the dress until it fit like a glove. It was the lightest material I had ever worn, and outside of the warm fireside, or perhaps on a breeze-filled beach, would never be worn in public. It may as well have been a mosquito net, so light and open. It flowed like chiffon and shone like silk. It was whiter than clouds and I was afraid to even scratch in it.

"What look exactly are you going for?" I had asked. The Reverend had just turned in for the night, and she had had me remove undergarments to ensure it fit exactly right, without the presence of a man. I could almost - but not quite - see my nipples through it. "I think you need more fabric up here."

"White Witch. Or maybe faerie queen. I haven't decided yet whether I want to do your eyes or ears. And I do not. It's fine."

"This must have cost a fortune." I complained. "And as soon as I get cold I'll be carving stone there's so little between my breast and the world."

"Meh." She shrugged. That was not an answer, to either question. I knew that Joe wasn't poor, and certainly wasn't the type to marry for money, but Anna was - colloquially speaking - loaded. This costume was probably a fun project with some pocket money. But the boob thing was still an issue.

"Here, I also have these. Most of these are mine, but I did get a few for the occasion. And some I had bought here on holiday anyway. Two silver anklets, some arm bangles, a delicate leaf ring, and a teardrop diamond necklace later, and she had decided that we were going for the 'White witch' look.

"What exactly is a 'white lady'?"

"A White Witch is a good witch. Like Glinda from Wizard of Oz."

"She was much pinker than this." I pointed out. "And less naked like."

"Yeah, well traditionally they were mystical healers. According to Mrs. Graham anyway. Women good at the natural arts of healing - much like you - selfless, all that blah-de-blah. Often persecuted as witches. I've tried to make you look beautiful, ethereal, wise and innocent. Like no one could pass ill judgement on you."

It was such a peculiar statement, but my reflection in the window gave that sort of impression. That somehow, I was beyond the realms of men. Only I could pass the judgement now. Joe had walked in at that point, and I had expected some snide remark, but instead he whistled.

"Wow Lady Jane. It suits you. You look quite regal actually." He had squeezed Anna's hand in congratulations of her work.

"Wait til I finish the look tomorrow. Weather says it's going to be sunny, and perfect for a shoot. Day of Halloween, or Samhain, or whatever they call it here."

"Plus I won't look so odd dressed up on Halloween." I said. "Especially if you're to be taking me out in public."

"Either way - you're taking a break from all this history stuff tomorrow. Rev's going to be busy anyway, and Joe said he'd help me set you up for the shoot."

And that was the worst thing that I could have imagined for the following day. Being stared at as a crazy and highly dressed up tourist. Would the locals think me mad? Or perhaps Anna's quirkiness and inquiries had sparked the local gossip. She seemed to have pulled from multiple sources for fabrics, makeups, and tips. Perhaps I was old news. It was a mild hope, but still a hope.

"Alright. Get me out of this so I can get to bed. You'll have me up at odd hours of the morning, so I'd like to catch some sleep."

That night, I dreamed of highlander battles, and a white lady standing atop a hill, directing pawns on her life-sized chessboard and watching her armies slaughter.

In the morning I looked, and felt, worse for the sleep I had supposedly gotten. Three hours of Anna's work though, and I was a silver-eyed (thanks to the coloured contact lenses), shimmering white witch. She had left me a sinister looking dark red mouth which I found disconcerting, but she said that it was one of the colours of her art series. My hair she had left in the ropey mess of curls it always was, claiming that it looked freeing and natural. I personally thought that after all the time she spent on makeup she simply didn't want to deal with my hair. I donned my dress, and a large and warm coat, slipping my feet into a pair of comfortable running shoes, that we would switch later, if the grass was short.

Joe, our lighting guy for the day, beamed at me as I sat, quietly, and shyly in the back of the car during the journey. He loved Anna in her element, and I tried to be as perky as she wanted, to be that model that she needed for her holiday photo shoot.

 _Perhaps we could slap this picture in our October page, Frank?_ I thought. I twisted his wedding band around my finger, and waited. I wasn't sure where we were going, but I was already hungry.

She stopped on a road by a hill, and pointed us up, as she loaded herself and Joe up with equipment. I began to walk up the hill, looking at the ancient oaks around me, and wondering which tree had caught her eye, when I saw it. A circle of standing stones. A mystical place if there ever was one. Anna the planner. She had every detail down to a tee. It was kind of chilling. Like the air, which although it was sunny and clear out, it was still October. I was frozen.

I made my way up to the stone circle. I could hear Anna and Joe chatting animatedly behind me. She had me stand in the ring, while she took shots from afar at first, and Joe hid behind a stone with a large white sheet meant to reflect light towards me. It eliminated my shadows, making me look out of place. Anna crept forwards slowly, directing me here and there.

The center stone of the standing stones, was cracked, and she wanted to shoot me through it. I walked around to the other side of the stone, watching her line up. She leaned against it, angling her camera towards me. It was then that I started to hear the buzzing. The wind picked up around me, and I shivered. The sky seemed to darken as I listened. Anna and Joe seemed to pay no mind to it, and I started to wonder if perhaps I was cold, hungry and tired enough that I was hallucinating. She beckoned me forward and I focused in on her, dazed.

"What?" I asked.

"Come forward, and lean in on the stone here, I'll make this the last few shots. You're turning blue."

As I stepped towards the stone the buzzing got louder. It was making my head spin and my teeth hurt. The wind whipped my hair around my face, and I stepped forward, touching my hands onto the rock. I saw only one flash of her camera before my world turned itself inside out.


	2. Chapter 2

The next thing I knew, I was hurtling towards the ground, falling over what I thought had to have been Anna and Joe. How had I made it through the crack in the stone? It seemed barely wide enough for my hand, and yet here I was, tumbling down on the other side of the circle. The grass was wet as I made contact with it, and I was disorientated again. It had been dry literally seconds ago. I lay there for a moment, looking up at the sky, and realised that everything was quiet. The humming had gone away. My stomach, all my insides for that matter, felt as though they'd been shot around on a rollercoaster, and dumped unceremoniously into a bucket of worms. Everything was writhing and tingling. I needed to vomit. I sat up straight away, and darted out of the stone circle, out where Anna and Joe wouldn't have to see me wretch up whatever I had in my stomach. I ran only a few feet, eyes on the ground when I came upon a large black horse.

It wasn't entirely my fault. I hoped not anyway. I was literally incapable of stopping my stomach from forcing my mouth to open and wretch. And I was literally incapable of stopping the scream that shot it's way out of my throat when I came face to face with Frank, dressed in a dragoon officer's coat, like the ones I had seen in museums, astride a giant horse, with a pistol pointed at me. The noise that resulted from the wretching scream probably sounded much like what old wives tales talk about when they discuss banshees. And the poor horse, having no previous warning that I would appear, or make such an un-Godly sound, to put it simply, fucking panicked. It reared, frantically, sending it's rider back, and twisting him off. His foot caught in the stirrup, and the horse galloped away, down the hill at full speed, dragging Frank like a flailing rag-doll behind it.

I wretched again, falling to my knees as I finally puked up the bile that was trying to make it's way out, and rolled sideways, laying prone on the ground, shivering. I closed my eyes and tried to absorb what the hell had just happened to me. It was then I heard the frantic discussion of two very unfamiliar voices. My eyes flew open again, and I found myself looking at two men, one scarecrow-like and stern in his appearance, and the other, young, frantic, and absolutely joyous.

"Jesus Christ." I said, sitting up, abruptly. "Who the hell are you?"

The men looked at each other briefly, before the younger one spoke. "You're English then?" he asked, in a careful voice.

"What?" I asked in reply. "Who are you? Where are my friends?"

They shook their heads. Neither of them knew how to answer me. The older one said something to the younger, patting him on the shoulder and he winced slightly. It was Gaelic, that much I could tell. I looked behind me, searching for our car, and could not see it. I stood up, walking quickly back into the circle, to look for Joe and Anna, but they were not there. None of the equipment was either.

"Joe?" I yelled. I heard a frantic curse behind me, and the younger man appeared instantly.

"Hush lass. D'ye want the Redcoats down on us again?" he looked desperate.

"What?" I asked. "What is going on? Are you filming something? I don't want any part in it, just please leave me alone." I backed out of the circle now, watching the man's dazed expression. I turned, looking around at the trees. They seemed different. Smaller somehow. Perhaps I was absolutely losing my mind.

"Anna?" I cried into the hillside, fear creeping into my voice. A hand wrapped around my mouth and I struggled against it. It was only a few seconds before I felt a resounding thud to the back of my skull.

When I opened my eyes I realised that I was sitting, slumped on the neck of a horse, my hands tied to the pommel of a saddle. Someone was behind me, a hand on my back, keeping me steady. I stiffened up and sat up, my eyes searching around. I felt as though I had not been out for long, although it was darkening. By nightfall I should be able to spot Inverness by the light, and make my way back. If I could escape my captor. The man in question was the scarecrow from before. He had a knife out again, in warning.

"Keep yerself quiet lass, or I'll knock ye again." It sounded like less of a threat, and more of a warning advice. The difference between a mother saying 'do that and I'll spank you' or 'do that and you'll hurt yourself'. I realised I was wearing a blanket of some sort, that smelled almost as foul as the man I was pressed against. I was so cold that I didn't particularly mind, wrapping it around myself further. I would rather not freeze to death while I waited for Anna and Joe to call the cops, and send the goddamn army in. Perhaps I had been drugged and more time had passed than I had realised, or perhaps - and this was stretching it a little - I was in a really vivid dream. I dry wretched again, and swallowed down bile, while acid burned stinging through my nose.

He then began to speak in Gaelic, to the other man, who by the response I heard - also in pained Gaelic - was behind us, on another horse. We were headed to what looked like a small house, barely visible in the fading light, when we veered suddenly to the right, further into the woods, towards a stream instead. The man behind me got off, and helped me down too.

"Here. Wash. Rinse. Stop pouring yer guts out." He gestured towards the small stream, and I got down on my hands and knees gratefully. I rinsed my mouth out, and as I submerged my hand, I saw the shimmering pool of still liquid reflect my make-up ridden face. Perhaps all this makeup had hallucinogenic compounds or properties. That had to be it. I washed off the sweat and sparkle from my face, vigorously, rinsing away any traces of it from my skin. I rubbed cold water over my arms, over my neck, and over my face again. When I stood again, both men, who had been at my back, the younger, still on the horse, crossed themselves.

"Well that looks a right bit more usual. If you don't mind me saying mistress." The young man smiled. "You did startle the horses something fierce." He winked. "Though -"

"Quit yapping. Dougal is expecting us." The older man said, pointing towards the house. The younger man dismounted, awkwardly, in a one-armed fashion, and passed his horse to the scarecrow.

"And what exactly are we supposed to do about her?" He cringed as he sat down. There was clearly something wrong with his arm.

"You could let me go." I said, in a weak voice. My young captor laughed.

"And let the vicious Redcoats find you? Nay, lass. They'd find fit to torture a fair folk like yerself, for information and the like. They don't do well with things they dinna ken."

"Fair folk?" I muttered, dazed.

"Well, I'm not particularly sure what ye are, but it seemed like a good enough description. I canna very well tell the men I summoned you from a faerie circle now can I?"

"Summoned me?" I asked. This was definitely a dream. Or a hallucination. I'd gone absolutely mental.

"Come on lass. Best let us do the talking for the time being."

"If you want to keep yer life." Muttered the scarecrow, as an addition. As helpful as the younger man was trying to be, they were clearly still very dangerous.

"Murtagh," the younger one warned. "She saved our lives. Jack Randall'd have us both flayed alive. Scared him away!"

"I'll kill any Randall, any day. It's only your arm slowed us down."

Kill any Randall. As a Randall, I felt a shiver drop down my spine. Beauchamp it was. I picked up my horse blanket, and wrapped it around myself, as I was pushed along the forest trail. We passed to the left of a small stone bridge that I recognized, and I knew where we were. We were coming up on Inverness. I could probably see the town and it's lights as soon as we broke through the woods. But when we did, I saw nothing but darkness along the rolling hills. My stomach tightened in fear. I stumbled slightly, as I was through the door into the small house.

I was immediately assaulted with smells, and sounds. The smells were of fire, and urine, and blood, and metal. The sounds were of Gaelic, and sharp intakes of breath, and the unsheathing of metal.

"What is it you have there Murtagh?"

Murtagh pushed me forward, into the firelight.

"A Sassenach, Dougal, by her speech. That's about all I can tell ye." He said, truthfully. The younger one came in, looking green.

"We found her up near Craigh na Dun." He added.

"Eh, a bonny one, Sassenach or no." said a fat, greasy man. He stood up, and I realised for the first time, that all the men in the room were wearing kilts, odd, even in the Scottish highlands. Had I stumbled into a wedding party? Or a Halloween tradition? A Clan reuniting?

"C'mere lass." A tall, dark-bearded man beckoned to me. By the ring of command in his voice, he was the leader here. "What's your name lass?"

"Claire." I managed. "Claire Beauchamp." I stared into his eyes and he recoiled slightly, crossing himself. Why did people keep doing that?

"And what were you doing, lady, running about the countryside in yer shift?"

I looked down at my dress under the blanket. What had once been a floating masterpiece was now a damp piece of translucent fabric, plastered to my body from the dampness of the drizzle outside. I may as well have been standing naked, in my sneakers.

"She said she was attacked, and separated from friends." The young man put in for me.

"D'ye think maybe she's a whore?" One of the men piped up. A few of them chuckled.

"If so, not one any man round here for miles could afford." The young man who had captured me with Murtagh piped up. "That shift is mighty fine material, and look at the silvers she's wearing."

I had forgotten about the obscene amount of jewelry I was wearing. It seemed of interest, but as a point of argument rather than a point of loot.

"Fair points you have Jamie."

"I've no idea who she might be. Or what - " Murtagh said, glaring pointedly at Jamie. "- but I'd stake my best shirt she's no whore."

"We'll puzzle it out later." Dougal dismissed, staring deeply into my eyes with suspicion and wariness, and turned to grimace at Jamie. "You're injured." The men left me alone for a minute, turning to Jamie. One of the men pulled back his plaid, while another slit his shirt open so that it fell away from the shoulder. A dreadful hump rose from the side, and his arm hung at an impossible angle. Dislocated.

"I was avoiding a musket ball. Ducked out of the saddle, landed on the ground and crunch. Hurts bad enough sitting. Nearly fainted when Murtagh got me on the horse."

"We'll have to put it back in lad. Force the joint back. Murtagh, you and Rupert hold him, I'll give it a try." Dougal picked up his arm, as Jamie winced, breathing in short gasps. He clearly intended to just force it back in, as was, which, by the position of his arm, was likely to snap it.

"Stop!" I cried. "Not like that. You'll break his arm." I stepped forward quickly, Dougal retreated a few paces as I hurried forward. The men seemed more shocked at my speaking and interrupting than my first appearance. "Move aside, unless you want him permanently maimed." My biomed student and bossy English volunteer were leaking. I had become quite the commander in my volunteering months. Joe had always joked that I could easy call up Frank's C.O., and order his division home when I got in the right mood.

I stepped forward, taking Jamie's arm out of Dougal's hand, letting my blanket fall. I looked Jamie in the eyes. "This is the worst part."

"Canna hurt much more than it does lass." He smiled. I rolled my shoulders slightly. This was going to take a lot of muscle. Thankfully my adrenaline was running high. It had been hours since the dislocation, and he was swollen. It would take lots of strength. I took a deep breath and levered myself against his arm, forcing it back. After a few seconds of pushing agonizing pushing for him, and serious strain on my behalf there was a sickening pop and I toppled forward slightly into him. He reflexively caught me, and then marveled at his newly restored arm.

"Sorry." I stood back up. "It'll hurt. A lot, soon. I'll need to wrap it to stop you from using it for several days. When you begin to use it again, go slowly at first, and use heat on it to help the circulation. You'll heal faster." While Jamie was listening ardently and respectfully, the other men were watching me with looks ranging from awe to suspicion. I pointed at one of the idle men. "You there, fetch me a belt, or a long piece of sturdy cloth."

"Fetch me?" He replied incredulously, looking around at the others. I stared at him angrily and he crossed himself, immediately loosening his belt. Either my death glares had begun to be more than obstinate, or there was something about my eyes that freaked these men out. My eyes. My contacts. I was wearing silver, highly reflective contact lenses. Undoubtedly that in this low light they were flashing like nobody's business. It would be surreal. Right now, it seemed to be protecting me slightly. There was one man, in the corner, who looked completely terrified of me. He was younger than the others, and wouldn't break eye contact with me.

"How'd you know how to do that lass?" Dougal asked.

"I study medicine." I responded, self-consciously.

"You're a healer?" Dougal asked, suspiciously. I nodded, cautiously. It was a fair approximation. A few of the men muttered something in Gaelic, and I shivered, reaching for my blanket again. As rough and smelly as it was, it was warmer than the costume I had on. Dougal saw the motion and halted my hand. He summoned a lady, cowering in the corner. They exchanged words, and Dougal tossed her a few coins, motioning to me. She nodded, and rummaged around under her bed. It gave me time to really look at the house. It looked and smelled like something clear out of the 1700's. There was no electricity to be found here either. All of the men, the stinking beasts that they were, were dressed realistically, in torn and mended shirts and kilts, heavily armed, and with enough missing teeth to warrant the time period too. What the hell was happening? The likelihood that I was in a dream had become the more real scenario. How could I possibly be in the 1700's? The woman finally withdrew an old shirt, and pair of breeches, with what looked like an apology. Dougal shrugged his thanks, and tossed the clothing to me.

"Here lass. It'll keep you warmer than that shift. You can keep the horse blanket too for a time. Ye look blue with cold."

"So I've been told." I muttered. I pulled on the loose breeches, under my costume, tucking it in as an extra layer, and pulled on the coarse shirt over my costume. At least I was slightly less visible now. I also grabbed the horse blanket, wrapping myself up in it, and sidling towards the fire slightly. The young Jamie kept a close eye on me, staring like I was the only thing he could see.

I was quickly ushered outside and I gasped audibly, drawing some attention. I had never seen the night sky with so many stars in it before. They were glorious and bright, offering enough light to see by, something rarely seen in my light polluted cities. I was guided along, gently, by Jamie.

"Come lass. You'll ride with me."

"Ride? Where are we going?" I asked, again feeling lost and a damp sense of cold that had nothing to do with the weather.

"You can help Jamie hold the reins in he canna manage one-handed, but take care to keep close to the rest of us. Should you try anything, I shall cut your throat." Dougal warned, helping me onto the horse. Jamie slid on behind me. Despite the general awkwardness, I was grateful for his warmth. With no more than the noises of the horses, we set off, into the night. It was all I could do to stay awake. I had been sick, been terrified, been knocked out, been kidnapped, been frozen, and now was being rocked rhythmically on a horse, finally warmer, with a strong and warm presence at my back. Unconsciousness seemed like a safe escape, but my fear of falling off of a horse and being trampled won. I shivered again.

"Where are we going?" I repeated, whispering to the one man who seemed willing, if not even eager, to help me.

"Tell ye the truth, lassie, I don't know. Reckon we'll both find out when we get there, eh?"


	3. Chapter 3

We rode in the darkness for a long time. It was all I could do but look at the stars. I had always wondered whether the constellations of ancient Greece seemed so imaginative simply because there used to be more stars to see. Now I truly believed that to be the case. I searched through the sky, looking for familiar landmarks, and their accompanying silver dustings that I had never previously seen.

"You search the stars like you're looking for home." Jamie murmured in my ear, so as not to attract the attention of the others.

"Not quite." I murmured back, looking down at the saddle.

"Do you not have the stars, where you're from?" he asked, sounding incredulous.

"Not as many." I answered truthfully. "Only the brightest ones."

He sat quietly for a moment, digesting that. I closed my eyes, they were slightly sore - I wasn't used to contact lenses. I wondered if I could take them out on the move? I rubbed at my eye, feeling it roll around. Possibly. But a mirror would help most.

"Did I..." Jamie started, and faltered. I looked over my shoulder, curiously at him. "Did I truly summon you here? One minute, I'm tossing a piece of silver through a faerie circle, and the next..."

"I come barreling out, screaming like a banshee?" I supplied. He nodded. I answered again, truthfully, as best I could. "I don't know. One minute, I'm standing with my friends -"

"Anna, and Joe?" he supplied helpfully.

"And the next, I'm tumbling over you, I suppose, disoriented, in pain, dry heaving like I've done somersaults on a boat. The next person I see is the spitting image of my dead husband..." I could feel my stomach rolling around, and my breath catching again. It had looked like Frank. Exactly like Frank. Jamie had the common sense to stay quiet then. I closed my eyes and tried to refocus on the stars.

We did not talk, for a long time then. The black night sky began shifting into lighter blues, and finally into the warming pinks of sunrise, when I noticed the rock formation to the right of us.

 _"See that rock up there? The Cock's Tail, that one. The English used it for ambushes against the Scottish Highlanders for ages. Very effective it was. Rarely did the Scots escape those skirmishes. It was cited as a wonderful capture point for many a prisoner."_ The Reverend had cheerfully informed me, as we had driven by on our way to one of the keeps. Leoch, I thought. Perhaps that was our destination now, however my mind kept hovering over the more note-worthy part of that memory.

"That rock up there. The one that looks like a rooster's tail..."

"Cocknammon." Jamie acknowledged.

"The English used it for ambushes." I said, then quickly corrected myself, "They use it for ambushes, I mean. Effectively. It has a high vantage, and good coverage." I said. I would rather not get shot on my way to wherever we were going because of a petty feud between some Highlanders and Redcoats. Jamie looked at me carefully.

"You're sure, Sassenach?"

"I don't know what Sassenach means, but yes. I'm sure." I said, more determination in my voice. The Reverend hadn't been wrong on any of his hunches that I had seen through our research together. Jamie made a quick sound to his horse and it quickened its pace, catching up to Dougal's who had been in the lead. A quick exchange occurred in quiet Gaelic. At a signal from Dougal, a few of the men dropped back, while two separated, and galloped ahead. They were barely a quarter of a mile away before the flash, and delayed sound of musket fire reached us. Jaime quickly turned me out of the saddle, unceremoniously dumping me into a large gorse bush. Then they were gone, fighting, yelling, the sounds of metal and musket fire echoing through the night.

I disentangled myself from the bush, and began running in the opposite direction. My anklets chaffed uncomfortably sliding in and out of my sneakers as I ran. Trees whipped at my face, my hair, and I tripped over a tree root, suddenly sliding down a muddy outcropping, cursing while I rolled. I slammed down into what was thankfully, a deep, and quickly flowing creek. I tumbled around in the water for a while, struggling for breath, and to get out to the shore. When I finally managed it, I was abysmally soaked, and freezing, and scratched and coughing up water, as I fought my way out of the creek, and up the opposing bank. My eyes stung with the cold water, and as I rubbed them, I realised I had finally displaced my contacts. I shivered and choked, as I lay on the stream bank, my head spinning, and thankfully had enough sense to pass out again.

When I woke, I was shivering again, under a blanket, on a horse, someone warm pressed against my back. This was becoming a habit. I turned quickly, and bumped my head against a shoulder, that elicited a pained hiss, from Jamie.

"Dinna worry lass, tis me."

"That's what I was afraid of." I moaned lightly. He shook with a short laugh, it elicited the fresh, coppery smell of blood.

"Are you injured again?" I asked, worried.

"Nay, pay it no mind lass. This lot isna my blood. Not much of it anyway."

We rode in the dark with the men for a short time, and then Jamie started struggling with something, twisting his shoulder and hissing in pain.

"Serves you right, brawling around the countryside. I told you not to move that joint. Now you've probably gone and torn muscles as well. What _are_ you doing?" I asked, as he was still squirming.

"Well first of all, if I hadna moved my shoulder I wouldna have ever moved anything again. I can handle a single red-coat, maybe two, one-handed, but not three. Besides, you can fix it back up again." He stopped struggling. "Second of all, I'm trying to reach my plaid to get loose and cover you. You're shivering so hard you're making _my_ teeth rattle. I canna do it one-handed."

With a good deal of tugging we got it loosened, and wrapped around both of us. It was much warmer that way, though Jamie himself was quite cool, despite the recent skirmish. I wouldn't be surprised if he had lost blood. Not too long after we were riding in silence again, Jamie began to lean on me, quite heavily. At first I pushed back, thinking that perhaps he was trying to be forward, but then he started leaning dangerously close to the side, and his head lolled limply.

"Stop! Help! He's going over!" I cried. He, thankfully, fell into the arms of two men who had rode quickly to his aid. By the time I had managed to dismount and get to him, the men had laid him on his back, and stepped away, watching me. I pulled open his shirt, which was soaked, and found a musket ball shaped hole in his trapezius.

"Fuck the bastard. Why didn't he say anything? All that fucking blood he lost. Damn his pride." I ripped a piece of my new shirt, to use as a gauze to stop the bleeding, then looked at it. It really needed to be cleaned. "Do any of you have anything for disinfection?"

I looked around at the men, searching their faces, and most of them crossed themselves instantly. "Snap out of it. Do you have anything for disinfection? Iodine? Soap with lye? Shit, even alcohol would do."

Their faces lightened with understanding and three flasks were handed to me straight away. Whoever Jamie was, he was clearly important to them. I took one, and rinsed my make-shift sponge with it, and wiped away at the wound, probing at it. "The ball passed cleanly through the trapezius. Small victory there. He'll need rest. Can we camp here for the night?"

"Nay, five hours at least, likely seven until we're safe enough to do that lass. We can stay long enough for you to stop the bleeding, that's about all. Mend it and go." Dougal commanded.

I set to work, muttering with disdain. The other men relaxed for a moment, chattering in Gaelic, while Murtagh leaned down to help me. Every time I looked at one of them they crossed themselves.

"Why do they keep doing that?" I asked, moderately angry at my own self-consciousness in front of my would-be kidnappers. Murtagh looked sardonically at me.

"One minute yer eyes and skin are flashing silver white every second, next you dump yerself in a river for a moment, and come out all blue and gold."

"I'm blue with cold, and my eyes are naturally this brown."

"Gold." He corrected factually. "Regardless, they _were_ silver. Most people only get one colour, ye ken."

"Perhaps she's washin' off magic in the waters. Is that why you near drowned?" Jamie mumbled. His eyes were open now, dizzily fixed on my brown-gold ones.

"I nearly drowned because everything in this fucking country is cold and wet. I've never been so painfully frozen in my life." My voice was much louder than his, and attracted the attention of the men. They now stood quietly, watching me work. With my struggling cold hands, I began to tie a dressing, but the two ends kept slipping out of my stiff fingers, each time he filled his chest with air. "Will you stop fucking breathing for a second you god-damned bloody Scot. I can't feel my bloody fingers and I need this tight. Be still." I snapped.

"I've never heard a woman use such language in my life." Said one of the men behind me.

"Then you've not met my Auntie." One responded quickly. Jamie laughed and the dressing fell away. I turned my gaze on him and he stiffened, stock still in response. I supposed I looked right mad and murderous.

"Sorry." he said, trying very obviously not to breathe too much. I worked, with Murtagh supporting Jamie, and catching anything my frozen fingers dropped. He was getting the sense of the bandage I was trying to create, and being quite helpful.

"Perhaps we should send her to Ste. Anne, Dougal." Offered one of the men. "I've not heard Jamie swear in strings like that since he came back from the monastery."

"You wouldna do so either, if you'd been made to do pen- ouch- penance for it by lying three hours on the cold stone in February, wearing naught but a shirt." He said, still trying his best to move nothing, save his jaw, as I prodded and pressed against the hole. "Penance was only for two, but it took me another hour to unstick my arse from the ground." The men all laughed. I smiled, in spite of myself. Clearly he was feeling fine. With the main binding finished, I tucked my hands under my armpits for warmth for a moment.

"Done, lass?" Murtagh asked.

"Just the final tie around his chest." I said, reaching forward again.

"I'll do it." He snapped. Not coldly, just efficiently. "Rest yerself. Ye look like shite."

"Well thank you." I responded, sarcastically, but I had no doubt that he was right. My head was throbbing, my stomach aching, and my body still had a residual wobbly feeling from my time in Craigh na Dun. Add to that the roll down the forest floor into a freezing cold brook, and I was surprised I was able to make words at all. I could feel my adrenaline edging out. I was so beyond the point of caring about my own safety, or arguing with my brain about my circumstances that I could hardly think. I stood up, aiming for the horse, and instead, my world span out of control until I was looking up at a concerned Dougal. He had caught me on my way down.

"Not faint at the sight of blood are ye?"

"No." I said sharply. "But I've been attacked, kidnapped, drowned, scraped, frozen, dumped off a horse, and I don't think I've eaten since mid-afternoon yesterday."

"Rupert." called Dougal, looking at me with concern, amusement, and suspicion. "Ye always have a small stash. Got anything the lass can work on while we ride? We don't need to keep stopping to catch the thing as she falls off the horse."

"I'm not going to fall off a horse." I countered, although I was heartily ignored.

"Nay Dougal. Ate the last at the cottage, knew we were close to Leoch."

"I'll hold her up. Jamie can manage his own horse. He just needs a drink." Murtagh supplied. And that was the new riding arrangement. I did my best to stay conscious. It was actually easier with Murtagh than Jamie. He was bonier, smelled worse and less warm than Jamie had been. But then he also kept space between my body and his, unlike Jamie had.

"Thank you." I said, a few minutes into our new arrangement.

"Mmmph." he responded. And that was that. We rode for the next six hours, into the morning. I slept for some of it, finally leaning back on Murtagh's bony frame. He didn't complain, despite the strain it probably caused him. He finally nudged me awake when we were in sight of a giant stone castle.

I had been here before, with the Reverend. But then, or later, it would be a ruin, overgrown, underkept, still as the stone it was made of, but now, it was bustling with activity. The castle was blunt and solid, nothing fanciful, but quite sturdy and functional. I had no doubt now, that impossible as it may be, that I was in the 18th century. Pigs, hay, people covered in grime, the pervasive smell of raw sewage, wagons, and unfamiliar words and sounds were cramming themselves into my awareness. My new apparel did not hide the fact that I was female, and dressed certainly out of sorts, so I even got the occasional stern look, usually from women.

I wasn't surpised the men felt safe from Redcoat persecution here. It was a fortress, well defended and strong. When we finally entered the courtyard, joyous greetings harassed the men. We stopped, and Murtagh slid off of the horse, and looked at my face. I was just trying to keep upright, and conscious.

"Easy lass. Slow." He raised his hands to help me off. I got off with what dignity I could, and then stood, clutching the saddlebag of the horse. Murtagh gave me one look, and noting my iron grip on the strap, nodded approvingly, and left.

"Ay, Dougal! We hadna thought to see you before the Gathering!"

"Well we've had some luck. Some good, and bad. I'm off to see my brother. Will ye summon Mrs. Fitz to feed the lads? She's got a doozy to look after this time."

He beckoned Murtagh and Rupert to accompany him and they began to slip away. I stared intently at my hand gripping the horse's saddle for support. Could I move it and stand unassisted? Did I want to test that in front of these strangers? Was it better to pass out, and hope to reawaken in some place that felt normal? I had never been so tired in my life.

"Are you alright, Sassenach?" Jamie's voice interrupted my musings. I looked around at him. He looked remarkably better off than I felt, which didn't make me feel any better.

"No. I'm frustrated with myself. Since the stupid stone circle, my body hasn't been right. I've pulled all nighters before, been without food, been cold, for Christ's sake, but everything feels like it's weighing on me a thousand times more." I started to unpry my fingers, then hesitated. "I'm not sure if I can walk."

"I'll help ye." He moved over towards me, and I untightened my fingers. I took my first step with lead feet and, although wobbly, remained upright.

"I'd imagine walking through stone, being summoned and all that stuff you mentioned before, would take a toll." he said, amiably. "More than being shot for sure. But remember, let Murtagh and I do the talking with yer story, at least for the meantime. We'll find something to answer the questions."

He straightened up, as a large, stout lady came bustling over.

"Willy my dear! So good to see ye. And Neddie! Ye'll be needing breakfast I ken well enough. Plenty in the kitchen. Ye smell like shit though, wash yerself before lunch eh?" She stopped short when she saw me. "What in heavens-"

"Mistress Fitzgibbons, this is Claire." Jamie introduced us. "Murtagh and I found her, on the road, and Dougal said we must bring her along."

She raised her eyebrows at him, and turned towards me.

"Well, come then Claire," she said, looking me over sternly. "You look worse for wear than most of these men."

"No, I can't - I need to tend Jamie." I said, remembering his wound, covered now as it was with dirty cloth. "I need to clean it, and re-wrap it before it gets infected." I explained.

"Infected?" She asked shrewdly.

"Inflamed, and red, with pus and fever."

"Aye, I know what ye mean. Are you saying you know what to do with that?" She looked intrigued. I nodded, and that had her decided on how to approach me; Adoption.

Mistress Fitzgibbons took us both by the elbows, and dragged us through some long, and dark narrow corridors, into a fairly large room, muttering about having to bake extra bannocks with the additional men. Jaime retorted that there were only a few of them and she shot him down.

"Ye all eat like the devil himself after a journey. Might as well be feeding an extra castle."

She sat Jamie on a stool and motioned for me to sit too. Instead I almost crawled into the fire. She got his tattered shirt off, and began undoing the bandages.

"It'll need to be soaked off, and then the wound cleansed with medicines." I yawned.

"What will ye be needing?" she asked simply. She would have made an excellent nurse.

 _"Ever heard of witch hazel?"_ _Joe had piped up at me one day in our studies._

 _"That girl from your chemistry lab?" I responded. He threw a pencil at me._

 _"Funny. It's good for burns, and salves, and injuries like that. Similar to garlic, but with more properties. Since you're in med school, I wondered if you ever looked at medicinal plants."_

 _"I'm more likely to be prescribing pills than plants," I had said skeptically._

 _"Don't be so sure Lady Jane. There may come a day when we're stuck in a shitty village somewhere with no pharmacy."_

I had taken the book, and Joe had been exactly right.

"A pot of boiled water. Some clean linen. Garlic, and witch hazel, if you have it." I pushed my hair away from my face and as I brought my hands down I saw some more shimmering makeup on my palms. Even my trip in the creek and ride in the rain hadn't been a thorough enough bath to get all the makeup off of me. It was now, more than ever that I wished I had a mirror still. Mistress Fitzgibbons disappeared.

"Have a seat Sassenach. Ye look like you're likely to fall in the fire." Jamie said.

"At least I'll be warm." I sat on a stool, leaning against the warm stone of the hearth.

"Is it warmer where you come from then?" Jamie asked. He was always shy and quietly curious. I felt bad about answering these questions. I was sure he was imagining a faerie land or something similar.

"No. I just usually dress better." My underclothes were still wet, I remembered, and began peeling off my sneakers. I left them as close to the fire as I could, while Jamie looked from afar at the unusually shaped shoes. I slid off my breeches, laying those close to the fire too, and the shirt. My costume, being as light as it was, would undoubtedly dry in seconds being this close to the fire. I sat down again and waited.

Mistress Fitzgibbons appeared again in a flash, merely pausing a moment at my new appearance. Together we boiled the herbs and the bandages. She had also brought some painkilling tea, insisting that we both drink it.

"You look quite close to death yerself lass." she explained. I drank it gratefully, and ate the fruit and bread she had brought up too.

"Thank you Mrs Fitzgibbons. I can manage now, if you have other things to do."

The great lady laughed. "There's always things for me to do lass. I'll send up a bit of broth for ye in a moment. Do call, if ye need anything else."


	4. Chapter 4

When she had gone again I worked on the cleaning and the binding of the wound. I washed his whole upper chest area, trying to focus through my sleepy haze. When he bathed later, he wouldn't have to remove the dressing, or be overly careful of it. When I walked around to his back, I heard my breath intake involuntarily. I froze for a moment. His back was a scattered and lumpy patchwork of scars. It reminded me of an old chopping board I'd used in my dorm. Criss-crossed scoring, with some deep gouges, and odd lumping occasionally.

"It's alright lass. Ask yer questions." He said simply, craning his neck around to look at me. My face, sad, but neutral, worked tiredly, scrubbing away the dirt coated in these scars as well.

"I'm not doing your hair, so you'd best be careful to not get the bandage too wet when you wash it." Is all I responded with. There was certainly a tale to go along with those scars, but as I was fighting the blackness ebbing at my vision, it would have to wait. "Are you going to be able to manage one handed?"

"Aye. Dinna fash."

"Don't worry." I translated to myself. "What exactly does Sassenach mean?" I asked, as I worked, focusing on my task, rather than my canvas.

"English person. At worst 'outlander'. Seemed appropriate for Murtagh to name ye that, as we haven't any idea of where ye're from." Jamie smiled.

"I was born in Oxford." I replied, simply. "Raised a little bit of everywhere. My Uncle Lambert was an archaeologist, and took me everywhere his work took him. When I was 18 I was married. I went to school, and did charity work around the world, and he went to join the army. Two years ago I got a letter from his commanding officer, that announced me as a widow. A week and a half ago I went on a trip with some friends, and we were -" I redirected 'taking pictures' to something more time appropriate "- exploring the standing stone circle. My life had been relatively normal until that point. Needless to say, I was scared shitless when I ran out of Craigh na Dun, into you and Murtagh, and into my late husband's angry likeness on horseback."

"I didna see yer friends there Sassenach. We cleared the area before hiding in the stone circle. You weren't there either. Until I summoned you." His eyes were piercing with truth.

"You keep saying that. What do you mean summoned me?" I asked, coming around to face him, so that he wouldn't have to turn. I began rinsing out my cloth.

"Murtagh knew I could hardly move with my shoulder out. He hid the horses and we fled up that hill on foot. We figured that perhaps hiding in the stones would ward off the soldiers. They aren't quite as superstitious as we are, but they don't test it, ye ken. Was working too, until we heard Randall's horse clambering up that hill. Murtagh had handed me a piece of silver.

"Make a wish lad." He said, "T'l be the last ye e'r do."

"So I did. I wished for a way out, and for one last look at a bonny lass afore I passed. I tossed the silver through the crack of the center stone."

"And out I tumbled." I finished for him, as he nodded.

"All silver eyed, sparkling in the moonlight with yer bangles and dress. Even yer skin. It's like ye'd grew from the silver I threw in." His eyes had a faraway look as he spoke, but he also stared at me. "The magic worked. Ye flew out there, made a sound I'd never care to guess at or repeat, and shooed his horse away, draggin' him, an experienced rider, with it."

We sat in silence for a moment as I finished his bandage. It would hold, and probably not get infected, but the rest was up to him. I wearily strapped his arm to his side with the belt, and sat down on the stool by the hearth.

"Is yer magic dulled by water?" he asked suddenly. "Every time ye get wet, ye end up looking more human."

"I _am_ human." I insisted with a yawn. "The water just washed away the extravagance." I ran my hand through my hair line again. "Look, it's a shimmering powder. Nothing more. I'm not made of silver. I need a bath, and then I'll be back to good old Claire Beauchamp."

"Human?" he said, disbelievingly.

"Human." I reaffirmed. "British. Normal. I hate being tired, I get hungover when drunk, I bleed once a month, and it's red. Human."

Jamie's ears turned red at the last bit, but I was too tired to really care, or be tactful at this point. A small knock at the door interrupted whatever he was going to say, and a maid entered with two bowls of broth, and left again. Jamie and I ate greedily.

"I'm surprised ye aren't asking questions."

"I'm too tired to." I responded, closing my eyes, and setting the empty bowl on my lap. "But can you owe me some answers for when I'm up to it?"

"Aye." he said, with a chuckle. He sat quietly, still eating soup. I had abandoned my bowl, nestling it in my lap. I sat back on the stool, leaning again against the warm stone, and promptly fell asleep.

When I woke, I was on the floor by the fire, bowl gone, wrapped up in a large quilt. Jamie was nowhere to be seen. Mrs Fitzgibbons was though. Her screeched 'come on then, up ye get lass' was what shocked me awake so hard I nearly rolled into the fire.

"Ye must bathe, and dress properly, ye've got Himself to see."

It was an excruciatingly cold process, although the lavender scented soaps we used helped to wash away the last of the shimmering powder on my face and arms. Mrs Fitz, as I was now allowed to call her, helped brush my mass of curling hair, and laid out new clothes for me. She touched my costume with some reverence.

"Verra fine work this is, Claire. I've not seen the like of the fabric, and the stitching. The gown to go over this would be equally fine, no?" She asked, fingering it gently. I kept silent, except to offer it to her.

"Would you like to keep it? Perhaps the fabric could be useful for something." I offered. She recoiled instantly.

"Oh no, dear. Not for the likes of me, that sorta shift. Pleasure to see the work though." She reaffirmed. Mrs Fitz gave me a small chest to call my own, in which I tucked my now dry sneakers, the now clean - thanks to her efforts - breeches and shirt, and most of my jewelry. It was with a heavy heart that I realised that along this journey somewhere I had lost the stone in my necklace, even though I had managed to save the rings, anklets and arm bangles. I left the leaf ring on, and picked a simple arm bangle, stowing the rest in the chest. Mrs Fitz dressed me in a fine green and yellow gown, complete with petticoats, overskirts, bodice, stockings, and slippers. Finally I was presented in front of a mirror. I blinked, looking at my unfamiliar reflection. I looked as strange now, as I had donning the White witch costume.

"There. Thought the yellow would suit ye. Brings out more o' the gold in your eyes." She looked out the window, down at the courtyard. "Ye've time for a wee bite, and then we'll hurry you off to Collum."

I ate the parritch, and bannocks that Mrs Fitz provided, as something to do while I worried. What exactly was I supposed to say to the Laird of this keep? A short knock at the door, and Jamie slid in. Mrs Fitz raised her eyebrows to shoo him off.

"I have a healing question Mrs Fitz!" He held his one good arm up, in abeyance of her scolding. When she didn't budge, he prompted her again. "A personal one, ye ken? I'll not be two minutes."

"Two minutes lad. She's late for the MacKenzie." She patted my shoulder. "I'll be right outside."

When the door closed he hurried over, and whispered quickly.

"Murtagh and I've been talking. Ye should keep to the story that ye were travelling with friends when ye were attacked - say by Highwaymen. Ye got separated, and ran into us. Keep mostly to the truth, but for God's sake don't tell him ye're a faerie."

"I'm not a faer-"

"Come, Claire. Keep yer head and yer wits. They'll be thinking you an English spy." His face held urgency, and I finally understood why Dougal had brought me along, despite being so suspicious of me.

"I'm not an Engl-"

"We'll go over that later. Be honest - he can spot a lie, Colum can."

"Be honest, but lie?" I asked.

"Omit." Jamie amended. "The men of our party are making up enough rumours about yer silver eyes and skin. We don't need fuel to that fire." He steered me towards the door. "I'll meet ye soon, lass. Murtagh and I will keep an eye on ye. You need not be scairt of me, or him, nor anyone here, while we're with ye."

And he was gone.

Within moments Mrs Fitz busied me upstairs, at a pace that left me confused as to my whereabouts. This castle was full of twists and turns, and she knew them all. I did not have the knack for direction however that she seemed to. She left me outside a door, telling me to come find her in the kitchens later. I felt like I was writing an exam that I had not studied for, and was hoping would be multiple choice. I knocked, and got no response. I entered.

Collum Mackenzie had chosen to receive me in a beautiful room, in which he was - at first - not present. It was luxuriously crowded with comfortable furniture, fine ornamentation, and even an enormous metal cage, fit the curve of the wall from floor to ceiling, filled with dozens of tiny birds. I quickly ran to his desk, scoured his papers, finding a letter dated to 1743. My hands shook as I replaced it, and then I walked over to the bird cage, focusing on the inhabitants while my brain calmed down. The tiny birds flitted about eagerly as I watched. 1743.

"Busy wee things are they no?" I jumped slightly at the intrusion, but his voice was actually quite soft and warm.

Colum shared the same features as his brother, the kingly air of power, but his beautifully proportioned torso rested atop two shriveled, bowed and stumpy legs. He kept his eyes on the birds at first, allowing me time to arrange my features - something he must be used to by now.

"I welcome ye, mistress. My name is Colum Campbell MacKenzie, laird of this castle."

"Claire Beauchamp." I responded. "Widow, and healer in training, I suppose you could say."

He searched my face, and stared deeply into my eyes as he spoke next.

"I have heard some truly conflicting tales of your arrival here."

I took a breath, frowning slightly. I wondered just exactly what people had been saying. I thoroughly doubted somehow that Murtagh and Jamie would spil their guts, if they were creating a cover story for me, but how much had the other men seen and heard? How supernatural had I looked when I first stumbled into that cottage?

"I'm sorry to have caused trouble. It was not my intention." That was honesty.

"As far as I have heard, you have tended a member of my brother's party while he was in great physical distress, and managed to thwart an ambush. Either of those actions would earn you a little leeway for causing some minor confusion." Colum grinned at me. I returned the grin. "Of course I have also been made aware of your silver enchantress eyes, and shimmering skin, a spirit in the night, preying upon my men."

"An exaggeration, undoubtedly." I stared at him with my clearly brown eyes.

"Perhaps." Colum smiled. "I'd like to take the measure of you myself."

I had nothing in response to that, except a smile.

"Please, take a seat, and tell me exactly how you came to find yourself at my doorstep."

So I did. I took Jamie's advice and stayed honest as I could, expressing my fear and confusion about being separated from the party I was travelling with, and my gratitude for the protection that Colum's men had provided me since I had run into them, but also my general displeasure at being essentially kidnapped to here, and then again my gratitude for the hospitality and generosity, offering the limited silver I had as payment, which Colum immediately declined.

"You are my guest at Leoch. And until such a time as you are not, you will want for nothing here, and make no payments for it, except perhaps in assistance. As a healer, even one in training as you said, there may be some that come to you for help."

"I'll do what I can." I promised. "And I'll be out of your way as soon as I can be."

"We have a Gathering coming to Leoch verra soon, it would please me greatly were you to stay until then. After that point, I shall be able to dedicate some time to helping you find your traveling companions, and restoring yourself to them. Feel free to write letters of inquiry as you may need before that point."

I didn't see that I had much choice except to stay at Colum's pleasure. Women could hardly run around the Scottish Highlands unaccompanied without the potential for rape, murder and kidnap, not to mention that I had no horse or supplies, and no sense of where Inverness and Craigh na Dun were, or what I could possibly do when I got there to get back to Anna and Joe. Would time have passed for them too? Would I stray even further into the past? A small part of me kept hoping that I might awaken from this whole thing, and be able to laugh with Joe about how imaginative I'd gotten, but with each passing moment that hope diminished. There were too many details here that I could not possibly be imaginative enough to concoct myself. I stared, dazed and confused out of the window for a moment, before realising that Colum had spoken to me again.

"I'm sorry, pardon? I'm still wearied from my journey here, and slightly less focused than usual." I apologized.

"Think naught of it. I asked that you join us, as honored guest, at our table tonight for dinner."

"As long as it isn't any trouble..." I said, nodding my head.

"Until then, Mistress Beauchamp." He stood, to look out of the window himself, and I headed towards the door.

"One last thing, sir, I'm afraid I've gotten quite turned around, and lost all track of time and date." I asked, he smiled in return.

"It is the fourth of May."

I nodded my thanks and escaped the room. No one was there waiting for me.

The fourth of May, 1743. Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ.

I wandered the dark stone corridors alone, doing my best to retreat back to the makeshift room I had been given to use for the meantime. The floor was uneven and I wobbled about in my unfamiliar shoes. I took them off, tying them carefully under my skirts, with one of my petticoats and the decorative ribbon that Mrs Fitz had placed around my neck. My stocking-clad feet were more silent, and certainly colder, but more sturdy, as I walked my way through the corridors. I knew there was a staircase somewhere nearby that led me, at least, downwards. It wasn't until I found a door to the roof of a section of the castle that I realised I was truly and thoroughly lost. Thankfully, there was a sentry on duty.

"Excuse me? Sorry, I'm quite lost." The wet stone against my feet was cold. The sentry looked me up and down with confusion, before regaining his composure.

"Where you headed lass?"

"To the kitchens?" I asked, more than answered. That seemed the most likely place to find Mrs. Fitz. "Well, to Mrs. Fitz specifically."

I was given a general set of directions that would lead me downwards, and I followed them to the best of my ability. I came out at the side of a large hall. Somewhere along here had to be the kitchen. Tables were set up, ready to receive food. I followed a maid, carrying a water pitcher, and finally came into the kitchen.

"Mistress Beauchamp!" Mrs. Fitz cried. "Wonderful to see ye. Are ye staying with us then?"

"Only if you call me Claire." I retorted, smiling. She beamed back. "Please, can you give me something to do? Else I'll go to sleep again, and won't sleep a wink tonight."

And that was all the encouraging she needed. With a whirl of activity, my sleeves were rolled back, and an apron pinned to me. Mrs Fitz had me chopping, preparing, washing, boiling, and even scrubbing. I worked up my appetite throughout the day, trying to be as helpful as I could. She seemed unwilling to have me do any of the dirtier jobs though, at least today. I would earn her trust soon enough. Perhaps I needed to get out the shirt and breeches to be allowed to do mundane things such as bury food wastes in the garden.

I was hardly in the kitchen for a few hours before I realised that I had a shadow.


	5. Chapter 5

It was one of the men from the original kidnapping party. He was short, thin, sallow looking and with a head that looked slightly too large for his body. I was moderately sure his name was possibly Angus.

At first I had thought he was there for a drink. He had appeared and broken into a barrel of alcohol that was stored in the kitchen. Then he had sat down, and not taken his eyes off of me since. I wondered then if perhaps he was working up the courage to talk to me, or if he just wanted to sit there and stare. I didn't have long to think about it before a maid cursed in pain, and I turned around to assist her quickly. She had slit open her hand while cutting something. I immediately helped to sterilize and bandage it, and was then ushered out of the kitchen by Mrs. Fitz.

"You've worked too hard today Claire. Go, rest up afore supper. I'll come to fetch you." She shooed.

Once told something by Mrs Fitz, I had very little doubt that anyone disobeyed her. She was indeed a force of nature, with the ability to produce a look that could freeze the soul. I left the kitchen instantly, but also remembered that I had absolutely no idea how to get back to my room. I stood in the hallway for a moment, before picking a direction, and wandering off. I went exploring through the castle, getting the general gist of the main shapes of the building, and the hallways that acted like central arteries, feeding subsequent sections of the castle.

It helped to think of the castle as a body. I was beginning to map out how to get around things, when I came across a door that seemed to lead to the outside. I pushed it open, and found myself atop part of the roof I had visited before. Ah. So I was somewhere close to Colum's room. I stepped in a small puddle and it shocked me. I had forgotten that my shoes were still tied into my underskirts, hidden away. I'd been wandering stocking-footed this whole time. I hiked up my skirt to release the shoes, and slip them on, so I could continue my exploration outside.

I could see the entire courtyard from where I stood, and I leaned into the crook of a stone, to watch the people go about their lives. It was interesting to watch. I could draw parallels to my own life and routines in some ways, and yet I found myself more reminiscent of the places I had traveled to and volunteered in. The remote locations in which I found myself immersed in culture, and language, and life. Where I felt the most useful, I would also feel the most like an outsider. Like a Sassenach. This time period, however I had gotten here, had that same feel. Like I could find purpose, but that I would never fit in. Like I could make a life, and yet always cling to home. How I was going to survive here until whatever the 'Gathering' was, and how I was to convince Colum to let me return to Craigh na Dun I didn't know. Perhaps Jamie would help. After considering that a moment, I laughed at myself. I was placing all of my hopes in ever returning home to a man I barely knew, aside from the fact that he had a clear tendency to be repeatedly injured, and believed me to be some sort of mystical creature.

I slipped down to the stone floor, pressing my back against the wall. The weather was clear, damp but not actively drizzling. Aside from the sentry I knew was around the corner somewhere, and Angus somewhere on my tail, I was alone.

I was alone. Joe and I had been inseparable since Frank had left, and Frank and I had been inseparable before that. I knew I could be alone, I had been for points in my life, but I had somehow never felt as lonely as I did now. Tears of fear and loneliness trickled down my cheeks. I tucked myself into a small ball, burying my face into my skirts and had what Anna would describe as 'a well deserved cry'.

I wasn't sure how long I was there, but I had been dry, and just quiet of mind and body for at least a few minutes when I heard a small clearing of the throat. My head snapped up, and I saw Angus, looking slightly annoyed, but trying to look respectful.

"Yes? Angus, isn't it?"

"Aye. It's near supper. Mrs Fitz'll be wantin' ye in yer room." He said. I sighed, and started to get to my feet.

"I don't suppose you have a map of this castle do you? I've been looking for my room since I left the kitchen."

"Is that why ye were cryin?" Angus asked, looking amused.

"No it was not, thank you very much." I said, hotly. "Why are you following me anyway?" I brushed the dirt from my skirts.

"Orders." He rolled his r's when he said it, so much so that I rolled my eyes at him.

"So I'm an honored guest, suspected of what misdemeanors exactly?" I asked.

"None yet, Mistress Beauchamp. But as some o' the men think ye're a spirit o' some kind, some o' them'd rather ye not be unattended in the keep. Others think ye'd be needing protections and the like."

"So are you protection detail, or guard duty?" I asked.

"Aye." Angus avoided, motioning me inside. "Get in woman. We'll be late."

Mrs Fitz helped give me a good 'once over' before I was admitted into the dinner hall. I had been here mere hours before, but now it was absolutely full of people. I could feel the curious glances and whispers ripple through the hall as I made my way through. There were perhaps forty or fifty there to eat, and around ten to serve. The air was filled with Gaelic. As I reached the head table, I curtsied, to the best of my ability. It would have been more natural to bow - I had taken to doing that across my trips in Asia, but I knew that courtesy could be a matter of life and death here, and I hardly wanted to get killed for offending someone. Colum gestured that I should take up a seat beside him, and I walked around. He introduced his wife, Letitia, and his son, Hamish. As I sat, the usual level of chatter resumed.

At first, conversation around the table was limited to the requests for food. I took what vegetables I could, bread, and the meat that looked familiar. It appeared I was unlikely to starve while Colum's guest, which was a small comfort.

"Tell me about yourself, Mistress Beauchamp."

"What would you like to know?" I asked, surprised at the vague nature of the question.

"How did you come to be - as ye called it - a healer in training?"

"My late husband, actually, was the one that got me interested. He joined the army just after we were married. I began to worry about what would happen if he came home maimed or injured, and the worry drove me to study. I studied herbs and botany, general biology, and other such subjects, until I felt prepared. I went abroad for a while, helping in communities where I could."

"Alone?" Letitia piped up, shocked.

"No, thankfully, I was chaperoned, by a colleague." I realised how that would sound in this era and added "and his fiancee."

"And your family approved of these ventures?" Colum asked. He sounded polite, as if asking something usual, but I saw the intent of the question - what exactly was my background?

"I'm sorry to say, in that department, I'm remarkably thin. My parents both died when I was five. My Uncle Lambert took me in, but he was a social oddity. An exploring archaeologist, fascinated in cultures and creatures long extinct. My upbringing consisted of everything from living in the rough of the Egyptian deserts on food scraps, to dining with Princes in Asia. I was ferried around between archaeological camps, discoveries and countries until I met my husband. I settled down for two years perhaps, with him, and then off I went again. My Uncle passed, childless, not a year after I was wed." I took a small bite of bread. "I am, quite literally, without any family to my name."

"You said before that you were travelling to Inverness with friends?"

"Yes, the colleagues I had mentioned before, in fact." I smiled.

"And from there, you would have taken a ship?"

"Yes." I said, trying not to hesitate in the lie.

"To where?"

"I'm not sure. Joe, my colleague, was the planner of our trips. Some remote location certainly." I said. "I'm sure to have trouble contacting them if they proceeded with their travel plans."

"Surely, they would not have left their colleague, who they had already taken such effort in dragging halfway round the world, without a word of a search party?" Dougal put in, looking at me curiously. "Craigh na Dun is quite far from the road to Inverness mistress. I canna help but think it was a destination in your travels."

"Why would I make a destination of a standing circle? There's no one to heal there." I retorted, coolly.

"Perhaps ye weren't travelling for healing." Dougal responded.

"I'm not exactly sure of what I'm being accused of." I answered, honestly, stiffening slightly.

"Nobody is accusing anybody of anything." Colum said, staring down Dougal. Colum may not believe me, but at least he was tactful and patient about information retrieval. Dougal was like a dog with a bone.

"Yet." He said, and proceeded to stuff his mouth with a morsel of meat. I clenched my teeth. Silence fell across the four of us again.

I looked around the hall, hoping to distract myself. I found Murtagh, his dark eyes bright, and watching from the table closest to us. I wondered if he could, in fact, hear us. He appeared to be watching Dougal mostly. I continued to scan the tables and was confused to see the lack of a certain red haired miscreant with an arm bandage.

"I hope that Jamie is doing alright." I commented.

"Jamie? What's the matter wi' the lad?" Letitia asked, looking accusingly at Dougal.

"Naught but a scratch." Colum assured her, though his eyes scanned the tables for him too. "Where is he though, Dougal?"

"I sent him down to the stables, to help auld Alec. Seemed the best place for him, all things considered."

Colum stiffened slightly. Clearly there was some dispute between the two over Jamie. What, I couldn't fathom. Perhaps that would be one of my questions, for when I found him again.

"It's yours to say, if ye dinna agree wi' my orders." Dougal said, staring at his brother intently. Colum stared back a moment, before responding.

"Nay. He'll do fine enough there. Talent with the beasts."

Nobody asked about whether I saw a musket-ball ridden and dislocated shoulder patient working in a stable as appropriate, but I made a mental note to check on him tomorrow. I stayed quiet for a moment before Colum addressed me. I quickly swallowed the potato I had been chewing, while trying to be equal parts politely impressive and pardonably invisible.

"Mistress Beauchamp, as a healer, would you have interest in our former healer's surgery room?" He asked, looking at me intently. A 1700's style surgery room? What could that possibly entail?

"You have one at Leoch then?" I asked in response.

"We had a resident healer for a time. He passed, not a year ago. Fever took him. He kept a stock of medicinals in his room though. Ye may find use for them." He smiled at me. "Perhaps you can go through the room, in the next few days. If you find it agreeable, you might make it your own for your stay here."

Dougal looked at his brother, and added. "However long or short the stay may be."

Translation - perhaps you could make yourself useful while you're here, and we might see how helpful we can be in return. Letitia looked over, and took some pity.

"Off wi' the both of ye, talking business like that tonight. Can ye not see, the lass is dead on her feet? Let her rest up from her ordeal afore you go adding more to her." She shook her head neatly, and addressed me directly. "Ye can retire, Claire. Better than falling asleep at the table."

"We'll send someone to bring you to Hall in the morning."

I nodded my thanks, and excused myself. I hadn't felt overly tired, until the prospect of staying and 'becoming useful' at Leoch was suggested. It then felt as though the weight of the world had settled on my shoulders once more. I thanked them kindly for their hospitality again and retired for the night. I left through the main door again, starting my way down a hallway, before I realised that I was going the wrong way and turned around again. I muffled a scream as I bumped into Murtagh.

"Jesus Christ." I cursed, clutching my chest. "What are you doing?"

"About to ask you the same question." He said. "Ye're going wrong if ye mean to be going to bed. It's that way." He pointed over his shoulder and I sighed.

"I've been hopelessly lost in this castle since I got here." I muttered, following him as he retreated.

"None of the lads have bothered you today?" He asked. His face was resigned, as if I were a pet he'd taken possession of because his son brought it home.

"Angus was following me earlier. Said something about the men wanting to keep eyes on me for both protection and observation." I was trying to see my way in the dark, pay attention to my surroundings, and keep an eye on Murtagh.

"Mmmmph. Expect more o' that." He stayed quiet for a while, as he led me to my room.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked. I received no verbal response, but one of the dark eyes turned towards me. "Why are you not suspicious like Dougal and Colum? Or afraid of me, like the others?"

"The Mackenzie and his brother think ye to be an English spy, or some o' the like. The others from before think ye to be a foul spirit, or some demon. Jamie and I ken better. He wished you from the stone, and you saved us. That puts the burden on us as your caretakers now."

A burden? I suppose I was that. "I don't want to be a burden anymore. If it's a life for a life you've more than repayed your debt. Once with the English ambush, and once with stopping me from freezing to death after the river."

"The English ambush warning saved many lives mistress. But it's not just that." He stopped beside a door, mine presumably, and looked at me. "Jamie pulled ye over. Until he sends ye back to yer own world, or kills ye, he'll be marking ye as his to care for. Since I look after the lad..."

"I'm a de facto unwanted adoption." I filled in. He raised his eyebrows.

"Perhaps unwanted," he said, turning. "Not unwelcome." And he disappeared into the blackness. I slipped into my room, and found my bed, the fire had been kept for me, and stripped off my clothing, all except my shift. I lay in the bed feeling quite cold and surprisingly awake. Tomorrow I would go and find Jamie. I had a lot of questions. As shivers ran up my spine I realised that I had been much colder since I arrived here than I ought to be. Perhaps after another good night's sleep my body would finally adjust to being dragged not only through stone, but through time. There were probably other effects from the time travel adventure I had, I just had no books, no internet, not even a good old fashioned folk story to pull from in this instance as reference. I took my blankets from the bed once more, and folded them up like a sleeping bag, closer to the fire, wrapping myself into the cocoon, and snuggling on the rug. As I warmed instantly, I was asleep in seconds.

When I awoke, it was, once again to Mrs Fitz.

"Do ye ken what a bed is for lass?" She scolded, shooing me away from the dirty fireplace. She had in her arms a full array of toiletries available to the well-born Scottish lady. She once again helped me wash, and dress, despite my trying to excuse myself.

"Ye've got fine skin Claire." She said as she helped lace up my corset, brush and style my hair, and do my makeup. "Not seen the like in any woman over maybe eight or nine. So unmarked by disease and injury."

"Thank you." I replied simply. It was a few moments before I thought of something else to contribute to the conversation. "Can I ask something?"

"Mmmph." She replied, gathering up one of my many clothing items.

"What exactly is 'Hall'?"

"Tis where the people come together, to ask the Laird for mediation and settlin' of issues and such." She said simply, unperturbed by my lack of knowledge. Perhaps a high-born English lady could be excused for not knowing the customs of the Scottish Highlanders after all. The gown Mrs Fitz had brought me today was finer than the one from yesterday. Evidently, we were to look our best for Hall. I wondered about what 'Gathering' could be, if the Hall was what I would have considered a gathering.

I also began to worry about Jamie. For one, he was apparently considering himself my caretaker, despite being mysteriously absent for the last day, and secondly, his wound's bandages should be changed soon. Perhaps not the whole array, depending on how badly dirtied he had gotten, but at least the parts in and around his wound. I made a mental note to sterilise some fresh bandages and bring them with me later when I could track him down.

But first... Hall.


	6. Chapter 6

The dining hall we had been in the night before had been rearranged and filled with people. The tables we had dined at had been pushed back against the walls, the head table removed and replaced by a carved chair of dark wood, covered with tartan. The people themselves were also more groomed than dinner yesterday. As Mrs Fitz ushered me in a side door I was thankfully saved the usual curious glares. The Mackenzie brothers made quick work of grabbing the full attention of the hall. Colum walked slowly up the length of the hall, nodding and smiling to faces on either side. Dougal stayed a steady two paces behind him the entire length of the hall, and when Colum came to sit himself in the carved chair, he aligned himself behind and off to the side. His eyes scanned the crowd until he found me. Dougal nodded a greeting and I smiled meekly back. Mrs Fitz caught the attention of someone, and she disappeared in a quick rush of skirts. I was standing alone, waiting for whatever was to come with no guide, and no inkling of what to do.

I relaxed a little as proceedings began. Although I couldn't understand it - the cases being presented in Gaelic - I understood quite quickly that this was a regular thing, that had no true or official ceremonies, just a steady presenting of cases, on which the Laird of Leoch dispensed justice after hearing both sides. There were three cases that were presented before a small tap on my shoulder caught my attention. I jumped, and smiled as I turned to face a tall, and surprisingly healthy looking Jamie.

"S'alright lass, just me." He whispered.

"I was wondering where you'd gotten to." I said, equally as quietly.

"I meant to check on ye sooner." He admitted, "But when I got to the stables, I fell asleep in a pile of hay. Didn't wake up til this morning. Glad to see ye safe."

"Between Murtagh, Angus, Dougal, and Mrs Fitz, I'm rarely out of sight of someone." I muttered.

"Murtagh and Mrs Fitz will keep you safe. Angus is only following orders." He said. He didn't comment on Dougal. It was a safe bet that he was my biggest threat, at least currently. He, and probably Colum, thought that I was some kind of English spy, reporting to the redcoats about possible Scottish rebellion, or something along those lines.

"You're soon." Jamie said, motioning towards the proceedings. I looked quizzically at him. "They'll ask for your acceptance as a guest and visitor at Leoch in public. To make sure to keep you as safe as a well-born English lass can be in the Scottish Highlands."

"Fantastic." I murmured nervously. "I can't even understand what they're saying."

"Ye have no Gaelic at all then?" He asked, looking surprised.

"I'm English, why does that surprise you?" I asked in return. He opened his mouth to answer, when a lofty voice caught my attention.

"Mistress Beauchamp, will ye stand forth?" I walked forward, nervously, focusing intently on not tripping on my shoes as I approached the Laird. The few people in front of me had parted for me to pass, and suddenly I stood, in a very imposing space, and I curtsied, as I had seen the other women do. There was a stir of interest from the crowd, as Colum paid me the honor of getting up from his chair. He offered me his hand, and I took it gratefully, rising quickly before I fell. Dougal too stepped forward. As my captor, it was up to him to make a plea for my formal application. Thankfully, he did it in English.

"Brother," he began. "we pray your indulgence and your mercy with regard to a high-born lady in need of safe refuge. Mistress Claire Beauchamp, finding herself attacked and separated from her travelling companions, fled to the forests of your land where she encountered myself and my men. We beg that Castle Leoch may hold refuge for this lady until her English companions can be appraised of her whereabouts, and provision made for her safe transport."

Colum bowed graciously to me, offering me the hospitality of his castle, and other flattering formalities. Dougal finally stepped back, and I curtsied my thanks to both of them as I backed into the crowd. I had not missed the disquieting murmur that had spread through the crowd at the mention of my 'English' connections. Though I was to be an 'honoured guest' I was to be watched, carefully. I eased my way back to Jamie. Mrs Fitz was also there, but instead of watching me, as I had been expecting, she was looking anxiously into the crowd, where another case was being presented. Jamie smiled at me, before focusing his attention on the next case. A large man was dragging a young girl, no more than 18 forward to see the Laird.

"What's she done?" I whispered at Jamie, although Mrs Fitz replied without moving her lips or taking her eyes from the action.

"Her father accuses her of loose behavior; consortin' improperly wi' young men against his orders," muttered Mistress FitzGibbons. She paused and her hand flew to her chest.

Jaime filled me in more quietly. "Her father wishes the MacKenzie to have her punished for disobedience."

"Punished? How?" I hissed, as quietly as I could. Before he could answer me, Colum nodded his head, causing a murmur of excitement to run through the crowd. Angus, my shadow from the previous day stepped towards the girl, loosening his belt. I took a second to process that, and realised that he was intending to beat the girl. I began to dart forward, I had to do something - even if it meant taking that beating myself. I had seen a public beating once before, in an arid country where women were second class citizens, and more like property than people. There was nothing I could do in that moment, on that day. But here... perhaps what little fear I had stirred up in men like Angus would assist me. In the second it had taken me to move up to the front of the crowd, Jamie's melodic voice had pushed past me. He had called attention to himself, loudly with a Gaelic sentence that echoed through the hall. The crowd turned towards him, and Angus froze. He had caught sight of me, undoubtedly looking angry, at the very front of the crowd. He crossed himself quickly, and lifted his head further, to search for Jamie.

Jamie stepped forward, giving me a subtle look as he brushed past me. It clearly said 'don't do anything stupid'. I nodded, and he walked straight into the middle of the circle, cruising casually like he'd stumbled upon something funny. He began to speak, in Gaelic, and I cursed myself for moving away from Mrs Fitz, my translator. Someone sidled up beside me, and I was surprised to see the fat, greasy looking man from before, Rupert.

"The lad's offering to take the girl's punishment for her," he said absently, peering towards me slightly, watching my eyes intently. "I heard Jamie earlier say ye had no Gaelic."

"Thank you." I nodded tersely, "Surely they won't let him do something like that!" I spoke as quietly as I could under the hum of the crowd. Jamie, Dougal and Colum were speaking, as was the girl's father with an occasional interrupt.

Rupert shook his head. "I dunno, lass. They're arguin' it now. See, 'tis allowable for a man o' her own clan to offer for her, but the lad is no a MacKenzie."

"He's not?" I was surprised, having naively assumed that all the men in the group that had captured me came from Castle Leoch.

"O' course not," he said, looking equally surprised. "Do ye no see his tartan?"

He was indeed wearing a kilt of a different colour and pattern than that which most of the men wore. Thankfully I was spared having to answer, as Colum nodded his head. Murtagh and Angus stepped forward, Murtagh to collect Jamie's things, and Angus to deliver the punishment. Jamie spoke again, with a smirk on his face as he looked at Angus.

"He's askin' fer the punishment to be carried out by fists instead o' the strap." Rupert murmured to me. I didn't need to ask what that meant. I gritted my teeth as I waited for Colum's approval or disapproval. A quick nod of the Laird's head had a sharp and involuntary hiss escape my lips. Rupert looked worriedly at me, and I forced myself quiet, watching the barbarity of 'justice' being carried out before me. Angus drew back a fist and drove it into Jamie's abdomen, doubling him up and driving his breath out with a gasp. He waited for him to straighten up fully before moving in and administering a series of sharp jabs to the ribs and arms. Jamie made no effort to defend himself, merely shifting his balance to remain upright in the face of the assault. Angus looked back at Dougal, who nodded again. For a fleeting moment I hoped that it would signal the end of the fight, but I was wrong.

The next blow was to the face. I winced and shut my eyes involuntarily as Jamie's head rocked back. After the next chest blow, Jamie accidentally turned towards me. One of Jamie's eyes was swelling shut and he was breathing heavily, but otherwise he didn't appear too badly off. I was in an agony of apprehension, lest one of the blows redamage the wounded shoulder. Angus looked back again at Dougal, and he narrowed his eyes, nodding again. Angus turned, looking apologetically at Jamie, and landed a blow straight into his injured shoulder. This time Jamie did cry out, falling to his knees for a moment. I flinched forward, but Rupert put an arm out to stop me.

"It's near over mistress. If ye interrupt now, the justice can be seen as not served, and the girl'd be back at the strap." He looked kindly at me. "Wee Angus'll stop when blood's drawn," apparently divining my unasked question. "Usually when the nose is broken."

Angus' next blow was, exactly as Rupert called, to Jamie's face. He spat a gloopy mass of red droplets upon the stone floor, and stood up one last time. This time it was Colum who nodded. Jamie retreated back, towards me, doing his best to smile before he turned and headed towards a side door. I quickly thanked Rupert, and followed Jamie. The cases had already resumed, behind me and I apologized as I knocked into someone on my way out. I found Jamie heading downstairs toward the kitchen, dabbing at his mouth with his shirt.

"Come on, you fool. You hadn't even finished healing from the last beating you took." I walked with him, down to the kitchen, where I made him sit on a stool by the hearth so I would have enough light. I put on a small pot of water to boil beside him, gathered garlic from the stocks I had helped to store in the kitchens yesterday, and began to chop them up. I stayed quiet for a moment, and then turned to ask him what exactly had overcome him when he interrupted me.

"I've had my share of pain and punishment. Probably more than I ought. It isn't anythin' I couldna bear."

"So you know her then? The girl?" I asked, throwing the garlic into the pot along with a clean cloth. I pulled up Jamie's shirt to assess his chest damage when Mrs Fitz came bursting in.

"I see ye've found your healer already. Perhaps I won't be needed." She gathered together a few jars, a large bowl and a second towel.

"I haven't done anything yet, except boiled this cloth in garlic water." I fished it out gingerly, cleaning up his lip and face as best I could. "Although I don't think there's much I can do for his eye. It'll swell shut in no time."

She reached forward, prodding at his eye. Jamie remained compliant and quiet, reminding me much of a docile child I had once tended. Curious, and respectful, not wanting to interrupt the medics at work.

"Still bleedin' under the skin. Leeches will help, then." She lifted the cover from the bowl, revealing several small dark sluglike objects, an inch or two long, covered with a disagreeable-looking liquid. Scooping out two of them, she pressed one to the flesh just under the brow bone and the other just below the eye. "See," she explained to me, "once a bruise is set, like, leeches do ye no good. But where ye ha' a swellin' like this, as is still comin' up, that means the blood is flowin' under the skin, and leeches can pull it out."

The leeches laid across his skin were glistening in the hearth fire, and I tried not to squirm too much. I had used various medical means before, and I was well aware that a bleeding of an eye wound was sometimes necessary, but it still looked unnaturally disturbing. Mrs Fitz made herself busy making some form of willowbark tea.

"Won't the willow increase the chance of bleeding?" I asked. Aspirin after all, was a blood thinner, as well as a pain killer.

"Aye." Mrs Fitz said, looking impressed. "But ye add in the St John's wort and a wee bit o' vinegar, and ye dinna have the problem, while numbing the pain." It took her a few more minutes before she removed the engorged leeches. I listened, quietly respectful, and hoping that I would never have to use the information again.

"Ye'll look a right mess in the mornin'." She shook her head. "But ye'll have use o' the eye." Jamie smiled lopsidedly as I soaked his outer lip with my garlic and warm cloth.

"Thank ye." He murmured.

"Thanking me? It's you deserving o' the thanks. Laoghaire is my granddaughter, ye ken. If she has any sense she'll be along soon to pass thanks herself." She patted his head gently, and disappeared again.

"I ken who she was. Ne'er really spoke with the lass afore today." Jamie said, answering my question from before.

"Then why on earth did you step in for her?" I asked, looking at him with surprise. "I mean, it's none of my business..."

"Two reasons." He began. "It woulda shamed the lass, to be beaten in front of her friends. It woulda taken a long time to get over it. I'm sore, but not offended or hurt. There's a difference."

It was a noble thing. I busied myself tidying the small stash of supplies I'd used to avoid looking at his one good, kind eye. This man was full of good deeds and kind gestures. Clearly the kindness he'd so far shown me was part of his character, not a result of circumstances.

"And the other reason?" I asked, sitting on a stool across from him. This time he smiled.

"Ye looked right murderous Sassenach. I wanted to save poor Angus from whatever spell ye were about to unleash." He blinked cheerfully with his one good eye, and I bit my tongue. He was clearly toying with me, though I wondered if a part of him truly had feared that, in the moment.

"Well, I probably wouldn't have made Angus suffer my ire." I smiled back at him. "More likely Laoghaire's father."

"Rightly so." He chuckled back.


	7. Chapter 7

It was at that moment that I caught sight of a nervous looking blonde girl peering around from the entrance way to the kitchen, and my stomach happened to snarl slightly in hunger. I smiled at the girl, and swiped an apple from a nearby basket, excusing myself. Jamie searched around, confused at my abrupt departure, and his eyes widened with understanding as he saw Laoghaire. I made myself scarce immediately, deciding that a refreshing walk in the open air might be exactly what the doctor ordered.

My head was spinning with the morning's events, and I needed some time to cool off. I found my way up to the main hall, where 'Hall' was ongoing, and skirted my way out to the front doors. When I got outside, I noticed that the courtyard for once was remarkably scarce of people. The weather was damp and misty, leaving tiny droplets on my dress as I walked. I wandered out of the keep, keeping to a stone pathway, wanting to find a place to sit and think. It wasn't long before I found the empty paddocks used by the stables. I could see the stables on the hill, in the direction I thought was North. I clambered up the fence, perching on top, watching a sorrel stallion prance around, alone in the field. I took the apple out of my pocket and began to toy with the stem. Listening to the relaxing sounds of a horse trotting, while being pelted with cool mist was exactly the sort of environment I needed to think.

I thought first about the last time I had been near a stable. Joe and I had been trying to ask for a phone or internet connection, having recently fried both of our cells in a monsoon like rain. There were no phones here. No distant buzz of a city, no cars, not even the night sky was as bland as I remembered it being. I was now an official guest of Castle Leoch. What exactly did that leave me as a plan? Scientifically speaking, and historically speaking for that matter, I was being treated with a rare opportunity. With few family ties, I was the perfect nomad, as Joe and I had often joked about during our travels. Was the 1700's just a new adventure in my journal? Another place I could explore, could make an adventure, and perhaps as a healer, could even make a difference to a lot of people. A place to stay, at least for a time, while I figured out how exactly to get home. I was safe, warm, fed, unhurt, for now, but soon - with Colum and Dougal's watchful gaze, I was bound to give evidence of being, if not a spy, certainly an evil spirit of some kind. I knew very little of the customs here and apparently even flirting wrongly could get you beaten in a public hall. My musings were interrupted by the stallion I had seen before, cautiously approaching me.

He was beautiful, and tall. I knew better than to reach out my hand to him, and I sat calmly, waiting for his approach. Horses were generally skittish by nature, and not often adventurous in their curiosities. He walked forwards a few steps and snorted at me, proceeding to sniff at my dress. My time with Uncle Lambert had me raised in often unusual circumstances, and I once for a few months found myself an apprentice to an Arabic horse master. I knew enough to make a show of sniffing back at him, and when he'd stayed there for a few minutes I blew back gently, aiming generically for his nostrils. It was a horse's introduction. He sniffed harder and pushed into my chest, nearly knocking me off the fence.

"Alright alright!" I murmured comfortingly. "You want my apple is that it?" I took it, and placed it carefully on the closest fence post. I wasn't stupid enough to put my hand near a strange horse's mouth. He took it with some delicacy, and trotted off again, munching.

"Christ." Muttered a voice behind me. I jumped and nearly fell off the fence again. It was Murtagh.

"If you're looking for Jamie, I left him in the kitchen." I said.

"Aye. Come to fetch ye actually. Colum has a room for ye to see, now that Hall's over." He shook his head at me as I clambered off of the fence. "Not verra ladylike mountin' fences, and wanderin' off in the rain."

"I wasn't wandering off. I went for a walk. Decided to watch the horses." I muttered. I wasn't much enjoying my shadows, a moment alone seemed like an impossibility.

"Well Donas took a likin' to ye. That's quite a feat." He said, as we walked back to the keep. "He's a right tempermental bastard, that one. Only Jamie and Alec can get near him."

"He wanted my apple." I explained. Murtagh lifted his eyebrows skeptically at me. I wondered if Jamie had yet shared with him the reassurances that I was human. By the skeptical look I was being given, I highly doubted it. I was starting to ponder about whether or not I should raid a library, to look up lore on faeries. If I could avoid reaffirming the mystical rumors that the men were spreading, I'd probably have a fairer chance of not being killed, or tried for witchcraft. "Does the keep have a library?" I asked.

"Mmph." Murtagh nodded without beijg any more helpful. He didn't say much else as we walked back to the castle courtyard. When we got inside the stone walls I smoothed back my wet hair, and looked around at where we were going. We passed by the hallway to the kitchens, and took a narrow turn down into a stairwell I hadn't noticed previously. I really was going to need a map to this place. The room we finally entered was dark, and smelled both musty and bloody. If it hadn't been Murtagh bringing me, and if Jamie hadn't promised that I would be safe with him, I would have panicked and at least paused in my tracks.

"Mistress Beauchamp." Colum's voice rang out as I descended the stairs. He stood, in front of a grimy window, looking out into the rain.

"Sir," I nodded in response, curtsying slightly. I wasn't sure how to properly address him. He looked at me, waving his arm around the room.

"My last piece of business for the morning, is to introduce you to what you might consider a more permanent lodging that the small guest room ye're inhabiting." He looked around the room. "I offer you whatever you may need to help clean it up and make it more suitable for a lady such as yourself."

"What is this place exactly?" I asked, looking at the dusty row of shelves, and the ominous looking chests and large wooden table. The room was at least double the size of the one I inhabited now, with a taller ceiling, and more furnishings. There was even a large wash basin, and a large fireplace. Everything was coated in a black flim of dirt, and the silver sprinkle of cobwebs. There was also still the matter of the musty blood that was unidentifiable in location.

"Twas Davie Beaton's surgery."

I looked back at him in shock. This dirty place used to be the equivalent of a hospital?

"I had mentioned that you might find it interesting, but upon discussion of your skills with Dougal, I was hoping that while you took refuge here, you might help some of those who need it." He continued. I suppose that this was exactly up my alley. This was what I used to do, set up miniature medical facilities in run down towns that Joe and I visited.

"I..." I looked around at the monumental task ahead. I would need to move all the furniture, deep clean the place, replace it all, sort through and sterilise any materials, organize whatever apothecary supplies I had, create stocks of clean linens and bandages, not to mention move my own - admittedly limited - things down here. "I'll need a hand." Was all I could manage, smiling back at Colum in my dazed state. For now, it gave me something to do, something to focus my mind on.

"You'll have it." He took his time ascending the stairs again. "I would also be honored with your presence at my dinner table again tonight."

"You'll have it." I mirrored, curtsying again. I expected Murtagh to leave with Colum, but instead, he rested his sword belt against a corner, and looked at me critically. When Colum was out of earshot, he spoke.

"I'm to watch you for a bit, but I'll help where I can."

With Murtagh's help, I managed to find my old room and move my small chest into the new place. In a brief moment of privacy I changed out of my nice dress and folded it carefully into the chest, replacing it with the clean but well worn breeches and shirt. I knew I would receive some strange glares, but I was harldy going to rummage around in that dank place in such finery as I had been wearing. My first goal was to clean out the fireplace, hay, cobwebs and mounds of small dirt in the room. Murtagh and I managed to move all of the furniture to the side of the room closest to the stairs and then I shooed him away while I worked. He sat on a step, sharpening a small knife, and watching me tidy. I used my basic cleaning supplies to get all of the dirt and cobwebs away, and carve out the mass that was the unkempt fire bed, I put all of the dirt into empty buckets, and trudged upstairs to empty them into the grasses, or garden bed, depending on where Mrs Fitz wanted them dumped. I got fresh wood and a decent fire going, and mounted a cauldron of water above it. I used some of the citrus grasses in the stores of jars that I had found in my boiling pot to create the equivalent of a scented cleaner, and scrubbed down the tables, and shelves, and window sill, and even the fireplace stones. Anywhere I could see myself leaning, or using in some sense, I wanted clean. As I worked I hummed, wishing for something as simple as an iPod, that I could listen to a playlist of songs to keep myself motivated. The end goal would have to be enough.

Murtagh had long since disappeared, to be replaced by Angus, who helped in no way at all. During his watch I went through all of the jars I could, discarding the truly atrocious ones, emptying and disinfecting the usable ones, and cleaning and putting aside the good ones. There were a variety of valuable herbs and compounds that I could use. From simple things like chalk, to rare things like saffron, I kept what I could either sell or trade, or actually use to help people. When Angus switched his watch for Rupert, I finally had the help I needed to drag the shelving unit back to the far side of the room, and my bed to the secluded, and more private section below the corner of the stairs. With a simple sheet I would have privacy while I slept. The largest chest smelled terrible, and I pushed it right beside the window before I opened it. It contained what looked more like a carpentry set than a doctor's set, and most of the things were still coated with dried blood and rust. I sorted through, taking out only a small blade, and a pair of forceps, before asking Rupert to take the chest away and burn it.

"I'll not use it, and it's likely disease ridden." I explained. "The tools inside are at this point, only fit to be metal for horseshoes."

I put the small blade, and the forceps into the cauldron I had boiling, and went in search of Mrs Fitz. She might have sewing supplies I could use. I took the needles she offered, one of which was long and curved, perfect for sutures. I recieved many odd looks for my appearance throughout the day, especially when I was outside, but no one had approached me, or called me indecent, so I was able to finish my work.

"Ye'll be needing to bathe and get ready soon, Claire," Mrs Fitz warned, as I approached her to ask for some fresh supplies of garlic. "We've an hour to dinner."

I returned quickly to my new room, Rupert on my heels, and told him to wait outside of the door upstairs, as I was to be bathing and dressing. I did the best I could to get the muck of the day off of me, but longed more than ever for a hot shower, and some shampoo and conditioner. I did my best, heating the water as much as I could before using it, and using the tiniest amount of lavender oil in my hair. I tried to tame the unkempt mess, and ended up giving up instead. I was expected soon.

Dinner was the same affair as the day before, only with less stares. I worried about Jamie, as he was still absent, but Murtagh was close, watching, and listening. From my hostsl, I inquired about a library, and was informed of its location, and that I was welcome to it anytime. They inquired about how I was getting along with the work I was doing, and I proceeded to give them a more detailed than necessary breakdown of my day. The longer we talked about unimportant things, the less likely I was to trip over my own tongue.

"All I have left to do is sharpen the boiled tools, and start leafing through the medical log that Mr Beaton left. I would also like to collect more herbs, so I might explore around the keep, tomorrow."

"Mistress Duncan might be of use to ye. She dallies in herbs and the likes on occasion." Letitia supplied. I thanked her with that. "I must say, ye have surprised me today Mistress Beauchamp. I would not have expected a woman of gentle rearing to work so... expediently."

"Thank you," I responded. I took it as was intended, as a compliment on my thoroughness, speed, and hard work, rather than a smirch on my upbringing. If only they knew how gently the children of my age were reared. The sickest most of us got were chicken pox, and flu. The most exercise we generally got was in physical educations or gyms. A desk job was an unheard of occupation. The fact that I knew how to ride, or dig a latrine, or start a campfire was indeed, unusual, among my peers. "I invite you to see the finished product, perhaps in a few days when I'm thoroughly organized."

"On Saturday next, it might interest you to know," Colum began, watching me intently. "That a merchant passes through, that might carry a letter to Inverness for you."

I blinked, processing that. I should feel hopeful, if I truly believed my companions were there, waiting for me. I smiled, though probably not as quickly, or as eagerly as Colum would have predicted; his eyes narrowed slightly. "I will compose a letter to send... but as I mentioned before, I do think it is rather unlikely that they will be there to receive it."

Dougal smirked, as though I had said something that he had expected. It was at that moment I decided to make a show of being tired. Thankfully, Letitia - who I was beginning to like more than both of the Mackenzie brothers combined - excused me shortly after. I walked to my new room, smelling only citrus as I opened the door, and slid down into my new lodgings. I stripped off, putting on a shift, and an extra log on the fire, before tucking myself into my new bed. It was colder down here. I'd have to remedy that if I could. Thankfully, my day of hard labour helped me drift straight off to sleep.

My dreams were of searching through crowds for a tall mop of red hair.


	8. Chapter 8

When I woke, it was dark still, and I was stiff. I laundered my dirty breeches and shirt from yesterday in my small cauldron, and retrieved the small knife I had boiled yesterday. I would need to get it sharpened. I dressed, and tied my shoes up into my skirt again. I found it hard enough to walk in the shoes without trying to do it in the dark. I grabbed an empty basket I had set aside as a useful item, and felt my way to the kitchen in the dark stone halls. The kitchen and the main exit were the only routes I knew now. When I got to the kitchen I discovered Mrs Fitz, awake and cooking already with one other maid.

"Good morning." I said lightly, as I entered. She jumped slightly, and then smiled.

"Near stopped my heart Claire. Didna hear ye coming." She patted her chest slightly. I set down the knife and basket.

"I was hoping to get an early start to the day. Do you know where I could get this cleaned and sharpened? And would you happen to know where Jamie is? I'd like to check on his bandages." She took the knife from me, telling me she'd have the younger castle boys at it, and probably done by noon.

"I'll be sure the boys know to be making it sharp enough for delicate skin work." She reassured me. "As fer Jamie, he'll be in the stables. Take him some breakfast, and he'll no' mind ye visiting at all."

After my basket had been laden with bread, apples and cheese, I navigated my way out into the courtyard, looking at the slowly brightening sky. I took my shoes out from their bundle, slipping them on for the journey, and began the walk I had done before. It was not raining - yet, but it was brisk out in the morning, and I felt my skin flush with the cold. I also noticed that my nipples were standing to attention under my dress, and scolded myself for not bringing a blanket of some kind. I saw a few horses loose as I approached the paddock, and I wondered if the stallion I had met before would be there. I walked around the edge of the fence, looking. The horse I had met was not out with the others, which meant that there must be mares in the mix. Stallions and mares were best separated. I looked up to the stables and saw, in a smaller paddock, a grey horse, being led gently around in a circle by my patient, and absentee protector. I approached quietly, not wanting to disturb him immediately. I set the basket on top of the fence, and it tilted perilously. An apple fell out, splashing into a water bucket. The horse halted suddenly, spinning around with a force that Jamie was unprepared for. He toppled slightly, as the horse regarded me, nervously snorting. Jamie cursed in Gaelic, quieting as he saw the cause of the distraction. I stayed as still as possible, waiting for the horse, and it's trainer to calm.

"I'm sorry." I called quietly. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"S'alright. Just a lass with spirit, is all. Can be difficult." He said, patting her neck. I smiled at his inadvertent criticism. He quickly realized it, and remedied. "Isn't a bad thing, just means ye have to work harder to earn their respect."

I grinned more broadly at his recovery.

"There's an apple in there." I said, pointing to the bucket. "It was for you, but perhaps she's earned it more."

Jamie chuckled as he hopped the fence, one-handedly, walking around to me. The horse inside paced forward, inspecting the water bucket from afar.

"How are ye, Claire?" He asked, looking me over. "I hear Colum's had ye working hard."

"I'm fine. I'm hungry, I brought us breakfast." I motioned to the basket. "As for the work, it's been mostly my own doing. I don't like being idle."

"Have ye recovered then?" He asked, dropping his voice to a murmur, as he led me inside. "From Craig na Dun?"

"Yes. I don't feel wobbly anymore. Though I've certainly slept more in the last few days than I think I might have in my entire life."

"I did the same, the first day back. I'm grateful Murtagh was there to keep an eye on ye. Had I been conscious I would have done it myself."

"Murtagh's not very talkative, is he?" I mused. "He's barely said twenty words to me in the past two days."

"That's eighteen more than most get. He likes ye." Jamie smiled, reassuringly. "Might think he has to, mind, or ye'll curse him."

"I'm not going to curse anyone. I told you, I'm human. I've got no extraordinary powers." I scolded, as we settled into a warm and dry patch of hay. Jamie dropped the subject, still regarding me.

"What are ye doing here then?"

"I've come to change your bandages. I should have done it yesterday." I wrung my hands apologetically as I pulled out the fresh bandages and bottle of clean garlic water from my basket. Jamie smiled and gently eased off his shirt, sitting himself so that he was angled towards a wall, instead of the open stall corridors. I had to shuffle to get behind him. As I unwrapped the dressing, I got a good look at his back, in the daylight.

"Why were you flogged?" I asked gently, as I broke apart the wrapping on his shoulder. It was doing well.

"The first time was escape, and the second was theft—or at least that's what the charge-sheet read."

"What were you escaping from?"

"The English," he said, with an ironic lift of his brow. "If ye mean where, Fort William."

"I gathered it was the English," I said, matching the dryness of his tone. "What were you doing in Fort William in the first place?"

"Oh, that. I think they said obstruction."

"What on earth does 'obstruction' mean?"

"Whatever the English want it to, I'd expect." He said. " In my case, it meant defending my family and my property, and getting myself half killed in the process." He pressed his lips together, as if to say no more, but after a moment went on, as though seeking to focus his attention on anything other than my ministrations. For the most part his wound had done fantastically. Unfortunately I pulled off some scabbing as I eased off some of the bandages. He was remarkably still and focused, despite my causing him pain.

"It was near to four years ago. There was a levy put on the manors near Fort William—food for the garrison, horses for transport, and suchlike. I wouldna say many liked it, but most would yield what they had to. Small parties of soldiers would go round with an officer and a wagon or two, collecting the bits of food and things. And one day in October, yon Captain Randall came along to L—" he caught himself quickly, with a glance at me, "to my home." I nodded encouragingly, eyes on my work. "We'd thought they'd not come so far; the place is a good distance from the fort, and not easy to get to. But they did." He closed his eyes briefly. "My father was away—gone to a funeral at the next farm. And I was up in the fields wi' most of the men, for it was close to harvest, and a lot to be done. So my sister was alone in the house."

I began to re-wrap his shoulder. This time I was much more efficient, as I'd had sleep, practice, and my fingers were done being wobbly. I folded my hands together, and sat down on the say, comfortably again.

"I heard the shouting and my sister screaming inside the house. I found two of the redcoats with my sister, Jenny. Her dress was torn a bit, and one of them had a scratched face." He opened his eyes and smiled, a bit grimly. "I didna stop to ask questions. We were going round and about, and I wasna doing too poorly, for all there were two of them, when Randall came in." Randall had stopped the fight by the simple expedient of holding a pistol to Jenny's head. Forced to surrender, Jamie had quickly been seized and bound by the two soldiers. "They stripped off my shirt, bound me to the wagon tongue, and Randall beat me across the back with the flat of his saber. He was in a black fury, but a wee bit the worse for wear, ye might say. It stung me a bit, but he couldna keep it up for long." The brief spurt of amusement had vanished now, and the shoulder under my hand was hard with tension. "When he stopped, he turned to Jenny—one of the dragoons had hold of her—and asked her did she want to see more, or would she rather go into the house with him, and offer him better entertainment?" The shoulder twitched uneasily. "I couldna move much, but I shouted to her that I wasna hurt—and I wasn't, too much—and that she was not to go with him, not if they cut my throat before her eyes." "They were holding her behind me, so I couldna see, but from the sound of it, she spat in his face. She must have done, because next thing I knew, he'd grabbed a handful of my hair, pulled my head back, and set his knife against my throat."

"She went with him," he said abruptly. "I think I was unconscious, and she thought he would kill me, and perhaps she was right. After that, I dinna ken what happened. When I woke, I was trussed up in the wagon wi' the chickens, jolting down the road toward Fort William."

"I'm sorry. It must have been terrible for you." I said, calmly, trying not to pity, but absorbing the information. He smiled suddenly, the haze of remembrance gone.

"Oh, aye. Chickens are verra poor company, especially on a long journey."

I chuckled, in spite of myself.

"You seem to be quite the glutton for punishment. At least you heal quickly. After the beating you took in that hall." I shook my head disparagingly.

"I'm a strong lad." He smiled. "Besides, I didn't want poor Angus to have to face your wrath."

"Face my wrath?"

Jamie smiled at my bewildered expression. "Dinna take ill in my meaning, as I was going to step in for Laoghaire regardless of your actions, but yer gold eyes are almost as unsettling as yer silver ones, especially when fired up."

I sighed, biting at my lip.

"You're all never going to believe I'm human are you?" I asked. "I suppose I can't blame you."

"Ye do act fair strange Claire, but I believe ye. Ye seem like a terrible liar. Emotions all written o'er yer face." He smiled at me as I felt a blush creep across my face. "Still, for a human to live in that world for so long... Ye took on a lot of their magic, ye ken."

"My world is this world." I responded cryptically, and in hindsight, an extremely unconvincing tone. Jamie nodded his head respectfully and pushed no further. After what he and Murtagh had witnessed, and undoubtedly the stories that were flying around, I was relatively sure I was one miraculous heal away from being tried as a witch. "Either way," I dismissed. "I'll be staying here for a while. I suppose long enough to help you get out of any more scrapes and scratches."

"I'm not planning on it." He assured me. "Either way, I'll be staying with ye, until ye tell me otherwise." He looked at me with that intensity, that promise of protection. It was a life-debt like promise

"Yeah well, stay tuned for updates." I muttered.

"Tuned?" he asked. I opened, and closed my mouth.

"Nevermind."

We ate quietly, only interrupted by the stable master's entrance, and attempt to shoo me.

"Ach, leave her be. She's only feedin' me. I canna wrangle horses wi' one arm wi'out food."

Old Alec made a generically discontented sound, and left us alone. Jamie however, stood, shuffling kilts and coverings as I fumbled my way to standing as well.

"I'd best be back to work." He smiled at me. "Thank you for the food, and the care."

"Just try not to get flogged, stabbed, or beaten again will you? That'll be thanks enough."

"I canna promise anything, Sassenach. But I'll give an effort."

I left the stable then, noticing my shadow Rupert had appeared. Whether he had followed me from the castle, or located me since, I did not know. It didn't matter. My moment of happiness had been squashed, spirited away, by the fact that save two individuals - perhaps three if you counted Mrs. Fitz - didn't think I was an English spy, out to get them.

Over the next few days I tried to ingratiate myself into my work. I did work for the kitchens, as well as little favours for people. I began to pass messages to and from the boys in the castle, earning their trust was important to me. They were my best sources of information for both finding people and places, and I wasn't as intimidated by them as I was the adult staff of the castle. I sat once, in the kitchen, near a few bags of grain, mending an apron for one of the kitchen girls. I wasn't as neat as they were, but I was an extra set of hands, when one of the young boys, Owen, his name was, flew in with a look of terror.

"Owen what's wrong?" I asked quickly.

"Angus. I spilled his drink on 'im. He'll box me." he explained quickly. I could then hear the angry shouts of Angus coming up the hall. I looked to Mrs Fit, but she was lifting a massive cauldron into the hearth. I pointed at the sacks beside me.

"Come on, quick. Duck down, and don't make a sound." He did as he was told, curling up into quite a tiny ball. I - in a very unladylike fashion - propped my feet up onto the grain, so that my flowing skirts shielded the boy from view, and went back to my mending. Angus wheeled in, a wet patch evident on his shirt. I pretended not to notice him for a moment. Mrs. Fitz finally looked around, her gaze turning towards my shift in position, and undoubtedly her sharp eyes caught whatever was left sticking out of poor Owen.

"Where's the bugger?" Angus yelled.

"Are you drunk?" I countered confrontationally. "It's not even noon and you reek of alcohol."

"It's none of yer business." Angus said, abruptly.

"Some watchdog you are. Did you even know I was in the kitchen, or was that a happy mistake?"

"I'm no dog." He said, turning red.

"Dougal has you acting like one. Though I'm sure he'd be positively thrilled to see you drunk and reeling, staggering around the kitchens." I shook my head theatrically and went back to my mending, keeping an eye on Mrs. Fitz more than Angus. She was watching the exchange curiously. Angus straightened up, blathering about the 'Sassenach wench'. I had one last card to play.

"I am an honoured guest of the Mackenzie himself. I suggest you take your mutterings about me elsewhere, before I decide if I've taken offence to them or not." This time I sat straighter, squaring my shoulders and staring him down, willing him to go. I was hoping his general superstition about me might be enough for him to back off. He did, spitting at the floor on his way back to his 'guard' spot, down the hall by a store room filled with barrels. He tended to leave me here with Mrs. Fitz, as she was a good lady to keep an eye on me, and I hoped that I hadn't ruined that by pointing out that Angus usually did leave me alone in the kitchens. When I was sure the coast was clear, I tucked my legs back down, revealing the grateful looking Owen. Mrs Fitz shook her head and shooed him out of the kitchen. Owen skirted to the door, before turning back, and making a quick bow. It was in that moment I had for the remainder of my time here secured not only a secret source of snacks, but of information. Owen and his elite network of young lads and lasses - even Hamish, Colum's son - would gift small flowers, herbs wrapped in linens, or the occasional tidbit of gossip if they bumped into me alone. It was through this network that my first few patients - if you could call me a doctor - were scheduled.

One of the boys had run in, Colin, to let me know that there had been an accident, and they were dragging a man up from the village to come see me. I had hurried to my room, gathering what little I had, for the mending of what sounded like a broken foot. I had just enough time to ask the boy to stay in the room with me, before two men had burst in, one hopping manically. It was indeed a broken foot - a broken cart piece had impaled it. I was able to retrieve the wooden splinters, cleanse the wound, set it, bind it, and with the help of the ever resourceful Colin, even found an L-shaped wooden splint to set his foot in. As quickly as the madness had begun, it had vanished, with a brief thanks. I was left alone, washing blood off of my table, and putting my implements in a cauldron to boil.

"Do you do teeth too mistress?" Colin's voice popped up. "Or just bad things, like shoulders and feet?"

"I could have a look." I said, smiling. He opened his mouth obligingly, to show a cavity ridden tooth set. He pointed to the one causing the most distress and it clearly needed to be pulled. "I'll need pliers to pull this out."

"Would a lad wi' strong fingers do?" a familiar voice chimed from the door, he was stooped in the stairwell, watching me, dress splattered with blood, peering into Colin's mouth as if I were the most interesting thing in the world.

"Jamie!" I smiled. "Why yes, I believe you might. It's close to the front, so you could get a decent grip. I will need to acquire some proper tools though - for when you aren't around."

Colin was as amenable to Jamie wrenching out his tooth as he had been to helping me with my doctoring of the man with the broken foot. I pointed out the tooth, and turned for a moment to get some alcohol on a small cloth. I heard a small squeal and when I turned back, Colin was looking slightly shell shocked, and Jamie displayed a tooth in the center of his palm. I poured the alcohol on the small swab, and gave Colin both it, and a small jug of water.

"Swish and spit, then hold this to the gum. Bite down, and don't remove it until I tell you." Colin nodded obediently. I looked to Jamie. "Can I look at your shoulder, while you're here?"

"In a bit. When the lad's off." Jamie tousled Colin's hair, and began browsing through my shelves.

"Most o' these are empty?" He pointed to some labelled, and clean jars resting in purposeful places.

"I've been collecting. There is only one of me." I replied, dipping my hands into the cauldron's warm water, and washing the last of the blood off. "I meant to go to the forest today, but I got caught up in kitchen work and then had to fix a foot."

"Aye. Saw him hobblin' out of here." Jamie smiled and peered through my room. I suddenly felt like I was being examined, and with little Colin sitting there, mouth agape, I felt rather exposed.

"Alright, gently pull most of it off. Peel it carefully off of the clot. Don't eat anything for a few hours - let the clot harden and heal. Tomorrow you can _gently_ gargle with some salt water in the morning." I brushed his cheek affectionately. "Scat."

Colin scampered away, fast as he'd scampered in earlier. I turned to Jamie, smoothing down my skirt. Now we could talk in some semblance of privacy.


	9. Chapter 9

Jamie let me tend to his shoulder, stripping off his shirt. The bullet wound looked marvelous, and the bruising from the beating was clearly starting to yellow. I tied a gentler, looser sling around his arm - I was still intent on not doing too much damage to the dislocation. He would have much more freedom of movement though, to work back at it gradually, and I told him as much.

"You're not yet healed, but well on your way. You'll be back to... well doing whatever you did before, in no time." I looked around at my new lodgings, but realised I had a conspicuous lack of chairs. I could sit beside him on the table, or on my bed, and the latter seemed rather suggestive in his state of undress. I perched on the table, and looked carefully at him. He seemed to be equally evaluating me.

"I've heard from Mrs. Fitz that the castle boys have taken a liking to ye."

"Checking up on me are you?" I laughed "Well I ought to make some friends somewhere. The rest of the castle thinks I'm a spy." I smiled at him quickly. "Or a faerie."

"Nah, ye're wrong. Most think ye a witch." He jested, eyes twinkling as his mouth tried not to smile. "Which we know isna far from the truth."

"Awesome." I muttered, looking forward to being burned at the stake. Jamie looked at me again with the intense focus of curiosity.

"Ye say some strange things Claire."

Silence fell for a few moments between us. What was I to say about that? I would say strange things for the rest of my life, use colloquialisms I couldn't even fathom now, on a whim. Awesome, in this time, was literally an awe-inspiring fact, not the general term I had used it as. A simple slip of the tongue could get me into a lot of trouble.

"If ye want to be attracting less notice, ye may want to, er..." he searched around for the word. "Refrain."

"I'm working on it." I sighed, rubbing my neck. I looked down at my dress, which needed washing after today's ministrations. I should keep an apron down here. One more thing to add to the list. "I'm working on a lot of things. I've been nothing but busy these past few days. I've been thrown full throttle into opening a bloody clinic in the dungeon of a castle for god's sake. I'm in need of a million herbs and compounds that I need time to collect, let alone a decent set of surgical tools and some antibiotics wouldn't hurt. I've got a set of shadows following me round the clock, and I haven't even been able to go for something mindless like a bath, or a fucking run." My brain was starting to spit out all kinds of worries.

"I mean my god, I'm here, in the middle of the Scottish Highlands, no ability to contact the very few friends I had, none of the resources I'm used to utilizing. I can't even visit Frank's grave for god's sake." I thought about his headstone, lying in a graveyard that wouldn't exist for hundreds of years. Tears began running down my face. "I have no pictures, no memoirs of him at all. Of any of them, Anna, Joe..." I wiped away a tear. I wasn't sure how I was feeling now. Overwhelmed, angry at myself for cracking under the pressure, hopeless. There was the other side of me, the side I'd begun to think of as a traitor, but maybe it was just the adventurous rebellious side of me that took me travelling the world with Joe. This side of me reminded me that this was the academic opportunity of a lifetime, as well as a world in which I could make more of a difference than ever before. I was scared. Why was I scared? Scared that I couldn't get home? No... that wasn't it. I was scared of the intensity of the decision to stay that I had unconsciously made by beginning to set my life up here. Scared of the future, and the past. I took a deep breath and looked at Jamie. He was looking at me in return, equally as confused, but a glimmer of understanding lit behind his eyes.

"Ye look like ye've settled a decision. Gods know what that decision was, but it eased the wrinkles round yer brows when ye thought of it." He said, touching the slight frown I had between my eyebrows with a gentle finger.

"I've decided to stay. Stay here, if I can. Instead of trying to find Anna and Joe. They'll be alright without me, they have each other, and their families, and work. I'll send word if I ever figure out where they went." I took a deep breath. "I think I'm more useful here... Certainly keeping you healed is turning into a full time job."

He laughed quietly. "Aye. I do appreciate though Sassenach."

"Enough to answer some of my questions? You seem to know an awful lot about me."

"I regret to inform ye that I know less than ye think. I suspect we've barely scratched the surface with ye." Jamie smiled, "But ask away. I'll do what I can to answer."

"I'm curious about you. You and Murtagh aren't from this castle? But Dougal seems to hate you with the passion of an estranged family member."

"We are distantly related yes. Him and Colum are my uncles, my mother married into the family. Quite a scandal it was at the time too." Jamie paused, looking up to the doorway. "Murtagh is a close friend. A father in many ways."

"I can tell. He's been looking out for me. Certainly my most helpful shadow." I smiled. "Dougal isn't a fan of you though. Is it just the family scandal talking?"

"Ach, dinna fash. He's makin' a fuss about me inside the castle because of my status in the eyes of the law. If Colum weren't so committed to family, he'd agree with Dougal settin' me to the stables." Jamie had swept his eyes away as he spoke. I felt that he was telling me the truth, just perhaps not the whole truth.

"Your status with the law?"

"Aye." He smiled. "I'm an outlaw. A dangerous one at that. Ye couldna grace yer presence on a less worthy soul if ye tried."

"Surely," I said in a fake haughtiness. "I would determine the worthiness of the soul that summons me from the standing stone?"

Jamie mock bowed. "Indeed. Then perhaps ye didna hear the news of my exploits afore ye arrived." He readjusted himself onto the table, more comfortably. "I'm an outlaw," he said, calmly. "The English have a price of ten pounds sterling on my head. Not quite so much as a highwayman," he said, deprecatingly, "but a bit more than a pickpocket."

"For what?" I said, unbelievingly. Ten pounds sterling here was half the yearly income of a small farm; I couldn't imagine a single escaped prisoner was worth that much to the English government.

"Just murder."

I choked on my own spit, with the unexpectedness. Jamie pounded me helpfully on the back until I could speak again. After thinking about giving him a brief lesson on the difference between when you should and shouldn't try to stop someone from choking, I asked instead, "Who did you kill?"

"Well, it's a bit odd. I didna actually kill the man whose murder I'm outlawed for. Mind ye, I've done for a few other redcoats along the way, so I suppose it's not unjust."

"It was at Fort William. I could hardly move for a day or two, after I'd been flogged the second time, and then I had fever from the wounds. Once I could stand again, though, some…friends made shift to get me out of the camp, by means I'd best not go into. Anyhow, there was some ruckus as we left, and an English sergeant-major was shot—by coincidence, it was the man that gave me the first flogging. I'd not ha' shot him, though; I had nothing personal against him, and I was too weak to do more than hang onto the horse, in any case." The wide mouth tightened and thinned. "Though had it been Captain Randall, I expect I'd ha' made the effort."

"I don't think I could blame you." I said, although my unease was evident. It was hard to picture that face, the face I knew was so caring, as someone so malicious in intent. Jamie saw my discomfort.

"Ye said he reminded ye of...?"

"My late husband. Frank Ra-" I caught myself. "Franklin Raymond Beauchamp." I invented. "His face was identical. I'm not sure if my brain was playing tricks on me. I'd have to see him again to know for sure. But on that night, I could have sworn that my husband had ridden back from the dead."

I shivered with cold and unease. Jamie placed a reassuring hand on my arm. "Tis ne'er easy to see spirits. Particularly unwanted ones."

"It doesn't matter. I'm here now. For better or worse."

"There it is, though." Jamie said, "That's one reason I do not go far from the castle alone. This far into the Highlands, there's little chance of running into an English patrol, but they do come over the Border quite often. And then there's the Watch, though they'll not come near the castle, either. Colum's not much need of their services, having his own men to hand."

"So you're hiding from the police in your uncle's basement..." I muttered to myself. "Uncle Lamb would find that hilarious..."

"Tell me about you, Sassenach." Jamie asked, with that peculiar curiosity on his face again.

"I've told you some of it already. I was born into a loving household, but my parents died when I was young. My only living relative was my Uncle Lambert, and he was... eccentric, to say the least. A travelling archaeologist, he took me everywhere. I learned a plethora of useful and bizarre skills, most not appropriate to a lady of any standing. I have a few snippets of languages under my belt, none of which are Gaelic. I don't particularly belong anywhere, and I don't think I ever have. I got close, living with Joe, and Anna. Travelling the world together, helping people where we could. He is the one person I wish I could send word to somehow."

"I am sorry, that ye're here then." He said.

"I'm not." I smiled back. "It's the adventure of a lifetime. Hell, where I'm from, the adventure of a dozen lifetimes." A thought struck me in that moment. "Jamie, why don't you ever life to me? You've always been very upfront with the information you give, despite it potentially putting you in harm's way. And please don't tell me it's because you think I'll bewitch your nether-regions or something."

"Bewitch my nether-regions?" Jamie asked, laughing. "It's not that. Ye've been honest with me, I'll pay ye the same courtesy."

"But I haven't been able to tell you anything about my past, really." I said, thinking about how much I'd had to not say during conversations with him.

"Ye may never be able to tell me the whole story, but the words ye speak to me are always true. Ye're full of fire and passion Claire, and kindness and wisdom. Ye're a formidable woman. Ye'd make a mighty fine Queen, and I'm only half sure ye're not one already." Jamie rose, ready to call the night. He looked back at me, and gazed into my soul with his stare. "I will protect ye as long as ye walk this earth."

I needn't say any more after that. He left, and I was left alone, in my clean, and suddenly cold room. I contemplated dragging my bed over to the fire, and instead compromised by lifting a loose warm stone from the fireplace mantle, and setting it at the foot of my bed. I would sleep with warm feet, and a peculiar warmth in my chest tonight.

...

The following morning, I awoke with a diagnosis in my head that had just popped up out of nowhere. Clearly I had put it in the back of my mind to think about, and had finally gotten around to remembering the details. Toulouse-Latrec Syndrome. That was what Colum had. Named for it's most famous sufferer - who didn't yet exist - it fitted Colum's physical appearance down to a tee. Why had I not come up with the diagnosis before? I combed my hair and dressed for the day, while I thought about it. Impotence. It's sufferers had poor circulation and degeneration of connective tissues, often rendering the victims sterile, and usually impotent. But Colum had Hamish...

"Huh." I said aloud. To nobody in particular. It seemed there was more drama behind Castle Leoch than Jamie's situation, and my sudden appearance. Perhaps that was why Colum was so willing to be gracious and suspicious. Things were not always as they seemed.

I continued to work over the days, my services even extending to Colum himself, massaging the base of his spine to help ease his suffering. I also managed to annoy Angus and Rupert every morning, by finally adopting something in my routine that I had greatly missed - a morning run. The first time I had done it I had nearly been shot. I changed into the roughspun breeches and tunic, tied my hair back as best I could, and slipped into the sneakers I had thankfully been wearing with my photoshoot costume. I had - over the course of a few days, marked out a trail that wrapped around the keep, and headed around the lake. It was a fair distance, but one that would be fairly flat and soft for a run. I had thought that I was up early enough to avoid my shadows when I had begun running away from Leoch, but within minutes a horse had come barreling down towards me, Angus waving a pistol wildly in my direction.

"I wouldna move, lass. Might shoot ye." He warned. I slowed down, my breathing rapid. I pressed two fingers to my neck to measure my heartrate as I continued walking towards him.

"What can I do for you, Master Angus?" I asked through my short breaths.

"Ye cannot run, or escape, or whatever it is ye're doing' here."

"I am running. Exercising. Maintaining my health and stamina, by running around a lake, and back to the keep for a bath. What exactly are you doing? Chasing down an unarmed, barely dressed, unprotected English lady with a horse and a pistol?"

"I'm supposed to be keepin' an eye on ye." He muttered angrily, after a brief pause.

"Well then do so, from the horse if you must, without the gun. I've over halfway to run yet. Are you joining me, or will you wait for me back at Leoch?" I asked, beginning to jog past him. I had wagered that he _probably_ wouldn't shoot me in the back... but I was only half sure. The horse and he did indeed trot along beside me as I ran. Once we were back to the keep, I walked straight into my room, exactly as I had told him I would. I bathed, dressed, and came up just in time for breakfast. I tried to remain passive and pleasant, but to be honest I had been scared. I had washed, and then eaten with slightly shaking hands. I truly wasn't trusted here at all. After a few days of sticking to the same routine, Angus and Rupert no longer bothered with the horse, or even with following me. They would wait at the edge of the lake, and watch me in the snippets that the trees were thin enough to see me from the other side.

Now that the travelling party had settled back into normal life, and most of the men were healed - aside from Jamie's arm. It was time for the Castle to get back into regular life (according to Mrs. Fitz. anyway). Gwyllyn was performing tonight, and would be glad to have a new ear for his songs. I was stitching up an apron in the kitchen as Mrs. Fitz was explaining that Himself kept Gwyllyn here, as resident bard, unlike most other less fortunate keeps. She mentioned a few of his songs, expecting some look of recognition, but I could only look pleasantly enthused. I had never heard of them. I thought back to any songs that I might be able to sing or hum in this age, without references or colloquialisms that would confuse. It was something I would have to consider seriously. Couldn't be caught idly singing something that could get me thrown into an insane asylum or burned as a witch now.

I hadn't realised I was humming, until Owen's voice popped up, asking what it was that I was tuning. I blinked for a moment, and then laughed.

"It's called 'Bed of Roses'." I smiled. "I doubt it's something that even Gwyllyn has heard."

"Could you sing it mistress?" Owen asked, his usual knowledge sponge itching to be filled. Bon Jovi wasn't exactly kosher for the time period, but most of the song was harmless enough. I looked over to Mrs Fitz, who was busy working and kneading at some dough.

"I'm not a singer, but I'll do my best." I apologized as I began.

"Sitting here wasted and wounded at this old piano,  
Trying hard to capture the moment this morning I don't know.  
And a bottle of rum is still lodged in my head,  
and some blonde gave me nightmares. I think that she's still in my bed.  
As I dream about ...books that they won't write of me when I'm dead.

"With an ironclad fist I wake up and French-kiss the morning,  
While some marching band keeps its own beat in my head while we're talking  
About all of the things that I long to believe:  
About love, the truth, what you mean to me.  
And the truth is, Lady, you're all that I need.

"I wanna lay you down in a bed of roses,  
For tonight I'll sleep on a bed of nails.  
Oh, I wanna be just as close as the Holy Ghost is,  
And lay you down on a bed of roses.

"Now as you close your eyes  
Know I'll be thinking about you.  
While my mistress—she calls me  
To stand in her spotlight again.

"Tonight I won't be alone,  
But you know that don't mean I'm not lonely.  
I've got nothing to prove  
For it's you that I'd die to defend.

"I wanna lay you down in a bed of roses,  
For tonight I'll sleep on a bed of nails.  
Oh, I wanna be just as close as the Holy Ghost is,  
And lay you down...on a bed of roses."

I had cut out verses with references to things, changed a couple of words. I had said I wasn't a singer, so the slight halt in the lyrics before changing the word had undoubtedly come of as a pause for someone not a natural performer. Owen looked enthralled and fascinated. As I blushed and looked over to Mrs Fitz, she too was staring at me, Murtagh at her side, a piece of bread in his mouth.

"Okay, show's over. Scat, all of you. Mrs Fitz - is this sufficient?" I asked, waving the mostly repaired apron at her. Owen disappeared with a quick bow, and Murtagh took up a comfortable spot on a flour sack. Despite Mrs Fitz's immediate graceful attendance back to work, my face was still warm for a few more minutes.


	10. Chapter 10

When I entered the dinner hall that night, I found it rearranged, much as it had been for Hall, but this time, with rows of benches for arranged for spectators. At the Hearth was a small stool, and Colum's large carved chair placed to one side. Colum himself was seated in his chair, a warm blanket across his legs, and a small table with a decanter of some kind of spirit, with a pair of goblets nearby. Seeing me hesitate in the doorway, he beckoned me to sit by his side.

"I'm pleased you've come to join us tonight Mistress Claire." He said. I had found that he tended to be much warmer and friendlier on the days after I had massaged his lower back. I knew that I was easing his pain. It gave me some gladness as a healer. We watched quietly as people began to swarm in and out of the hall. Those closest bowed their heads to Colum, and continued on their way. I watched on, pondering on a life with servants.

"You seem unused to servants." Colum noted, and I blushed at how my gaze and focus had been so clearly displayed. "In fact, you seem quite used to working with them."

I looked at Colum, waiting for further comment. When he proceeded no further, I spoke softly. "I've never been afraid of work."

"Aye. With your work ethic, one would think you of their rank. But the servant girls chatter enviously about your unmarred skin, uncalloused hands, and lack of knowledge of some of the simplest tasks. They speak of your willingness to learn and do, but your clearly unpracticed hands at the jobs."

Obviously this was another dig into my past. Trying to figure out where I had come from, why I was here. Perhaps Dougal had been leaning more pervasively on Colum's ear. Or perhaps Colum was just making some observations.

"And? You had already assumed I was of some high standing, by my voice, dress, and decorum."

"And yet, you are unused to servants." Colum repeated. "High born enough to never have suffered childhood illnesses, to not know basic chores, yet not to have servants? It perplexes me greatly." It was indeed an unusual situation when presented in that light. Again, I stuck to the truth.

"My family's estate was not large. But I also wasn't raised there for long. As I've said before - I was attached to my travelling uncle at an early age." I held my breath, hoping the line of questioning would subside. It did.

"Have you ever been to a place they call a desert?" He asked finally, pouring a glass of the liquid in the decanter. I relaxed slightly, smiling, and taking the goblet from him.

"Indeed I have. There are places in this world with oceans of sand, stretching as far as the eye can see. The sand dunes are both deceptively large and small, and they move, some of them quite quickly. Within years, entire towns can be swallowed up by the sands. The ancient Egyptians built entire stone monuments and cities which are being excavated, rediscovered, because they've been swallowed by those dunes. Kings and Pharaohs who built massive monuments and tombs, may be hidden away beneath the stretches of the Sahara. "

"And what are the people like in these places?"

"Very different, and yet the same. They go about the same lives, in the same way. They're dressed with more skin covered than we sit here now, despite the heat, because they use the sweat and hot teas to help cool themselves. They have a circular stone oven which Mrs. Fitz would be shocked at, that can bake bread inside the walls using a small fire and the sun's heat. The cooks have to dip down inside the oven, like scooping water from a well, to slap the bread on the hot stones. The people tend to keep camels instead of horses. Horses are better for short journeys, but camels can withstand the heat, and are specially adapted for sands. They have a rich variety of languages, only some of which I could recognize by ear. Their music is delightful too." I paused, thinking about what I could possibly tell him, when he raised his hand to pause me.

"Please, try the rhenish."

I took a sip. It was fruity and smooth, and delicate, but strong enough to paralyze the vocal chords. "It- hmm hmm - It's delightful."

"You know good wine, though," Colum said, tilting the glass to enjoy the rich fruity scent himself. "But that's natural, I suppose, with your family French. _Beauchamp_." he said mulling over the French pronunciation. "What part of France do your folk come from?"

I hesitated a moment, then thought, stick to the truth, so far as you can, and answered, "It's an old connection, and not a close one, but such relatives as I may have there come from the north, near Compiègne."

"Ah. Never been there yourself, though?"

"No," I said, eyes closed for a moment while I thought. "I haven't met any of my relatives there, either. I can tell you stories of the dozens of countries I've visited, and almost none of my family. My uncle was not only an oddity, but a rather estranged one."

Colum looked at me searchingly. His eyes were a beautiful soft grey, thickly lashed with black. My gaze flickered past him to the group nearest the fire, where I could see his wife, Letitia, part of a group of several ladies, all engaged in animated conversation with Dougal MacKenzie. I pulled my attention back to Colum and found him gazing abstractedly at one of the wall hangings.

"I think I should like to hear more about your travels, perhaps during my next treatment. For now, you aught find a seat, the festivities will be beginning soon."

I stood, bowing my head to him, and began to place the goblet back.

"Please, Mistress, take your drink. I'll see it's kept full tonight."

Casting a look at the upper end of the Hall, I saw a slender man who must be Gwyllyn the bard, judging from the small harp he carried. At Colum's gesture, a servant hastened up to bring the bard a stool, on which he seated himself and proceeded to tune the harp, plucking lightly at the strings, ear close to the instrument. Colum poured another glass of wine from his own decanter, and with another wave, dispatched it via the servant in the bard's direction.

As I was trying to find a place to remain inconspicuous, but also with a decent seat, I noticed a young woman doing exactly the same. It was Laoghaire. I tried to engage her in friendly conversation, but she answered mostly in monosyllables, blushing and starting when I spoke to her, and I soon gave it up, my attention drawn by the scene at the end of the room. Harp tuned to his satisfaction, Gwyllyn had brought out from his coat three wooden flutes of varying sizes, which he laid on a small table, ready to hand. Suddenly I noticed that Laoghaire was not sharing my interest in the bard and his instruments. She had stiffened slightly and was peering over my shoulder toward the lower archway, simultaneously leaning back into the shadows under the nearby tapestry to avoid detection. Following the direction of her gaze, I spotted the tall, red-haired figure of Jamie, just entering the Hall.

He looked around, and upon spotting me, beelined it to my side. He looked jaunty, pleasant, in a fine mood.

"How you doing?" I asked. "Not gonna lie, you look like you just got laid."

He stopped, staring perplexed at me for a moment.

"Oh never mind. What has you in such good spirits?"

"One of the horses gave birth today. A fine foal, strong and gangly. Ye might come see it if ye've the time tomorrow."

"I've always got time...Unless someone gets critically injured." I amended. "And let's be honest - most of the time that's you."

"Were ye a jester in yer travels Sassenach?" Jamie asked, eyebrow raised. I shook my head, finishing the rhenish in my goblet, and placing it gingerly beside me on the bench. No sooner had I placed the goblet down, I heard a quick sloshing. Looking down again, my goblet was full, and one of the boys - perhaps Owen - was moving away. I picked the goblet back up, and nursed it gingerly in my dress.

Gwyllyn's singing was thoroughly beautiful, and melodious. His steady and calming rhythm was meditative in quality. Unfortunately, most of his songs were in Gaelic, and I looked down at my goblet, idly wondering how many of these I could handle, and still be able to walk back to my room. Two or three at least. I finished the goblet I was nursing over the course of the next song. The next song was in English, and I paid much more attention to that one. The following song slipped back to Gaelic again, and I nursed my goblet again. Jamie turned to me quickly, as though he'd realised far too late - something horrific.

"Ye dinna ken what he's singing do ye?" He whispered. I shook my head lightly, feeling the buzz of the rhenish in my movement.

"It's alright. The music is beautiful. Extremely relaxing."

"I can translate for ye -" Jamie began but I waved him off.

"No no, let me enjoy the experience this time. Besides, I'll be a distraction." I smiled back. Jamie relaxed again, looking toward Gwyllyn again. I, instead searched the room of spectators. I found Murtagh's grumpy frame, looking relaxed. I saw Dougal's equally grumpy, but larger build, looking content. I even spotted a few eyes directed my way. One, was the intent stare of a fair-haired, pale skinned woman with bright eyes, sitting just behind Dougal. She looked intently curious about me, and I was unsettled by her gaze. I felt a small tug, and turned back, to find that one of the castle kids was re-filling my goblet. This time Jamie took notice of it too.

"What are ye drinking?" he asked, peering at the goblet.

"Rhenish. I think, is what Colum said. It's quite good. I've never had it before. It's good." I murmured, offering it to him. He took it with a small smile.

"And how many have ye had?" he asked, taking a small sip.

"Two." I said. "No - three. Is that too many?" I asked gently. "Am I not supposed to?"

I watched Jamie pause in handing back the goblet, and deciding to finish the rest of it himself instead. "It's quite strong. Most people only have a glass or two."

"Ah." I breathed. I leaned close to him. "So for someone who rarely drinks it might be hard to walk soon then, yes?"

He chuckled lightly. "Probably. Do ye need to retire Sassenach?"

"Yeah. Just gimme a sec." I reached down beneath my dress to pull off my shoes, and tucked them into the pocket I had sewn into the underskirt of my dress, with a little difficulty in the dark, with fumbling fingers. Eventually I stood up, Jamie assisting me casually with one hand, but his grip was like iron, in case I wobbled. I walked, with the best of my ability from the hall, and then placed my other hand on the wall. Jamie was nothing but patient with me.

"I'm sorry." I said, almost as soon as we were in the hall.

"Why?" he asked.

"For getting drunk."

"I'm actually rather glad ye did. Ye can never tell a full measure of a person until they're ill or drunk." Jamie mused. "Besides, my mind was racing, trying to remember all the songs, so I could tell ye about them later."

"Was there one about a boat?" I asked. "One of them seemed boaty."

"There was more than one wi' a boat in it." Jamie said, grinning. It probably sounded like something I should ask about but I was busy tracing the wall.

"I'd not noticed ye hid yer shoes." Jamie wondered aloud.

"I'm not completely comfortable in the formal heels. More used to riding boots, or sneakers. Fuck." I muttered as I stepped in something wet. "I hope that's wine." I wandered, less steadily as the minutes went on and my body sensed the presence of a bed, to my room, and Jamie, quite unnecessarily, walked me all the way down into my 'surgery'. I stopped at the table, hopping up, and hiking up my skirt, trying to find my shoes. A few moments of my hands clumsily rustling skirts had Jamie stepping in to assist. He knelt in front of me, perched on the table and suddenly my heart was racing. It seemed like a very lengthy process, as he carefully folded each segment of my skirt back. I felt warm, and flustered. He finally found the segment, and the hidden pocket I had sewn, disentangling my shoes, and setting them to rest on the ground beside me. It took a few moments of him staring up at me, over the folds of my skirt, before he stood again, lifting me gently down.

"Are ye warm enough Sassenach? I've see ye sleep by the fire more'n once." Jamie's eyes

"Tonight, Jamie, I am plenty warm, thank you." I reached for a jug of fresh water I had on hand, and poured myself a glass. "I do, however, feel like I'm going to not be up for running in the morning."

"I've heard about that." He said. "Murtagh says ye run round the lake. Why?"

"It was a habit where I'm from. Lake paths beat treadmills ten to one." I yawned. "Although there are more tripping hazards."

I found myself into my bed, and thinking. "Don't ask about treadmills. It's complicated."

And I believe that was the last thing I managed to say to him, before shutting my eyes for the night.

.

My rise the following morning was not quite at dawn with the rest of the castle inhabitants. I stole a small bannock from the kitchens for breakfast, while Mrs. Fitz assured me that most people hadn't woken either. I went to walk in the garden, my usual running gear (breeches, sneakers, and mens shirt) optimistically on, in case the 'marching band' in my head decided to stop beating. I generally worked in that garden, and I was getting to know it well, other than the stables, it was the only place outside the castle I felt comfortable, and shadow-less. Having found out that I knew something of medicine and healing, the everyday crew, had become more interested in me, and began to ask questions about the ailments of their children, husbands, and beasts, in most cases making little distinction between the latter two in level of importance. Besides the normal questions and gossip, there was considerable talk of the coming Gathering, and often of rumors.

A few of the regular workers were here today. They smiled at my apparently evident hangover, and offered me a plant of some kind to eat to help. I sat, leaning against a wall, and started chewing. I watched the women work, so skilled at even the simplest of tasks - some of which I'd had to learn myself. I knew I had an extensive and odd upbringing, but I had to learn how to do a variety of tasks all over again - because of the updated tools I had enjoyed the pleasure of learning with. Writing with a quil, for example, was taxing, even though my penmanship with pencils and pens was beautiful. The servants and staff found it funny when I had no idea what certain words were, or certain processes, but they were always happy for a helping hand, and after some giggling and quick Gaelic quips, they would switch to English to help me. I tried not to let them get under my skin.

Today though, was a little different. Laoghaire appeared, looking cold, and I wondered it it was my appearance, my lack of contribution, or perhaps a hangover on her end that had her unsmiling. She asked me to fetch a full 'water' bucket from a nearby wall. I crammed the rest of the plant in my mouth, standing up. Trusting the girl, and misjudging the weight of the bucket I was reaching to fetch, I pulled too hard, and muddy water splashed down onto my head, soaking my body, and plastering my shirt to my now fully erect nipples in an embarrassingly revealing way. From the shocked looks of most of the people nearby, and the help and cover they instantly provided I had gathered that it was an accident. But the tiniest part of my brain wondered about ulterior motives, as Laoghaire had disappeared by the time I had a moment to excuse myself to go and get changed.

One of the children, Ellie, came with me, to help me navigate the back passages, in my state of distracting undress. We popped out from behind a tapestry in a corridor near a winding passage that apparently led to my room, and I balked in confusion.

"Ellie, I'm never going to understand this castle." I said. She smiled, partially toothless up at me.

"S'alright Mistress. We're near water after all." She said, as some means of explanation. I didn't ask for an explanation, just followed her direction. Halfway to my room, I bumped, quite literally, into Dougal Mackenzie. I threw my hands back to catch myself, but he was faster, pulling me up against him. He looked down at my state of wet and revealing clothing, and I stared defiantly up at him. He let go, a little too late for comfort.

"Fell into the lake on yer run today?" He asked scornfully.

"Something like that." I smiled, "Thank you for catching me."

"I'd been meaning to talk with ye. Gathering's coming up. Many a man'll be drunk, and probably injured. Ye may want to stock up yer surgery." He continued staring at me, directly in my path. I heard an echoing voice somewhere nearby, and Dougal stepped to the side, out of my way.

"Thank you, for the advice. Once I'm changed and dry, I'll work on that."

It was on one of the herb and fruit-picking expeditions in the orchard, gardens, and forests that I first met Geillis Duncan. I had my ususal shadow, but my leash was getting much longer. I was working by myself, quietly. I had found a small patch of Ascaria beneath the roots of an alder, I was hunting for more. The scarlet caps grew in tiny clumps, only four or five mushrooms in a group, but there were several clumps scattered through the long grass. There were also some interesting looking white capped mushrooms on a tree nearby. I was plucking and collecting, when a quick voice rang out.

"Those kind are poison," it came from just behind me. I straightened up instanntly thumping my head smartly on a branch of the tree I had been crouched under. As my vision cleared, I could see that the peals of laughter were coming from a tall young woman, perhaps a few years older than myself, fair of hair and skin, with the loveliest green eyes I had ever seen. She was the lady who had stared at me last night at Gwyllyn's concert.

"I am sorry to laugh," she said, checking I was alright. "I could not help it."

"I imagine I looked hilarious," I said rather ungraciously, rubbing the sore spot on top of my head. "And thank you for the warning, but I know those mushrooms are poisonous."

"Och, you know? And who is it you're planning to do away with, then? Your husband, perhaps? Tell me if it works, and I'll try it on mine." Her smile was infectious, and I found myself smiling back. I explained that though the raw mushroom caps were indeed poisonous, you could prepare a powdered preparation from the dried fungi that was very efficacious in stopping bleeding when applied topically.

"Fancy that!" she said, still smiling. "Since we're trading information, did you know that these"—she stooped and came up with a handful of tiny blue flowers with heart-shaped leaves—"will start bleeding?"

"No," I said, startled. "Why would anyone want to start bleeding?"

"To get rid of a child ye don't want, I mean. It brings on your flux, but only if ye use it early. Too late, and it can kill you as well as the child." She said, looking carefully at me. She reminded me of a cat, seemingly friendly, but possibly moments away from scratching or hissing. "The girls in the village come to me now and again for such things, and sometimes the married women too. They say I'm a witch," she said, widening her brilliant eyes in feigned astonishment. She grinned. "But my husband's the procurator fiscal for the district, so they don't say it too loud. I'm Geillis. Geillis Duncan."

I knew I was going to like her.

"People seem to think I might be something of the kind as well. Though I've not got the protection of a husband. Claire Beauchamp."

"Oh I know who you are. There's been much talk about you all over town. There's plenty of trouble we could get in together then. Tell me, what're ye collecting?"

We spent the rest of the day, filling up my two baskets of useful herbs and plants, and discussing storage and preservation options. By the time I got back to my room, my back was stiff. I spent a few minutes on the floor, stretching it out with some yoga, before I moved on to organizing my stock. It was only at the chiming of the clock that I realised I was supposed to be at Colum's door, for a massage session. Somehow, even with barely anything on my plate, I'd still lost track of appointments.


	11. Chapter 11

I had already concluded that the Gathering was an occasion of unusual importance, and grew more convinced by the extent of the preparations for it.

Mrs. Fitz was working double-time, and extravagantly, preparing all sorts of foods. Twenty skinned carcasses hung in the slaughter shed, behind a screen of fragrant smoke that kept the flies away. Hogsheads of ale were delivered by wagon and carted down to the castle cellars, bags of fine flour were brought up from the village mill for baking, and baskets of cherries and apricots were fetched daily from the orchards outside the castle wall. I was often part of the fruit and vegetable collection crew, and used the trips to enhance my stocks of things, and try to make conversation with more staff. My first venture was more successful than my latter. Anyone who heard my English accent was immediately wary.

I brought lunch to Jamie almost every day, making sure to pack extra in case the stable master Alec needed some food. That was the trick into allowing Jamie to take a lunch break every day - Alec's stomach. Jamie seemed to genuinely enjoy my visits, and I hoped that my intuition regarding that enjoyment was true. He was one of the few people I not only felt safe around, but could talk a little more freely with.

"Honestly, I'm not joking. The 'amorphophallus titanum' is this massive stalked plant, it only blooms every two or three years, and it smells like rotting corpses. I had the pleasure of visiting one in the botanical gardens in... I had the pleasure of visiting one. It's a truly awful smell. Horse manure can't hold a candle to it." I laughed. Jamie was absolutely fascinated with my stories. He never asked about slip-ups or corrections, only for clarifications, and it made for some fantastic storytelling.

"You've got enough strange stories to last a lifetime." He muttered. "And seen it all, so young."

"There's plenty I haven't a clue about. For example - I haven't ever been to a Gathering. Not really even sure what it is."

"They don't happen often. The last great Gathering at Leoch was over twenty year past, and then there were oh, maybe ten score of men come then—when old Jacob died, ye ken, and Colum was made laird."

He began to explain about things I'd already begun to see, and things I had no idea about, like official parts of the Gathering, the oath-taking, the tynchal, and the games that would be taking place. He talked about the better off folk staying in the castle, while poorer guests would set up in the field below the stream that fed the lake. He described the types of people that would come like tinkers, gypsies, and sellers of small goods. Some of those I had already seen set up a sort of impromptu fair near the bridge. The inhabitants of both castle and nearby village had begun to visit the spot in the evenings, when the day's work was done, to buy tools and bits of finery, watch the jugglers and catch up on the latest gossip. I kept a close eye on the comings and goings, and made a point of paying frequent visits to stable and paddock. There were horses in plenty now, those of the visitors being accommodated in the castle stables.

"So did you go to the last one?" I asked. Jamie laughed.

"I was only a wee bairn at the time. If I had, I wouldnae remember."

"How old are you then?" I asked, confused.

"23." He paused, as if afraid to ask, then continued anyway. "Yourself?"

"Older than 23." I mumbled, feeling old. Jamie raised his eyebrows at me. "Fine, 28." Jamie looked slightly shocked. "Unless the next words out of your mouth are "Ye're younger than ye look", I don't want to hear it." My mockery of his accent had his smile appear instantly.

"Ye'd make a terrible actress Sassenach. Ye've no talent for voices."

"We've already been over how bad a liar I am, and apparently can't mock up an accent. The work staff at Leoch think I'm enthusiastic, but unskilled at most usual labours. It's a good thing I'm good with medicine, else I'd be voted off the island." I sighed. Jamie threw a grape at my head. It bounced softly off of my hair, but startled me.

"Stop brooding. Ye've made a right difference around here lass. Besides, shite as ye are at voices, I hear ye can sing up a storm."

"I am going to kill Owen." I sighed. "One song, and I swear he's told the whole keep."

"Och, aye, and a fair amount of the village too." Jamie laughed. He stood up, brushing dirt off his kilt and helped me to my feet. I saw Alec loom in behind him. Lunch was clearly over.

"Ye may want to put your talents to use lass." Alec's voice boomed in. "We've a pregnant mare that needs some soothing."

"My talents as a healer?" I asked. I wasn't that familiar with horses.

"If ye like. But singing often helps the beasts calm too."

That was how I spent the next few hours. Physically evaluating the health of the mare - and as best I could - the foal. She was laying down in her stall, and I settled down on a fence post to sing. As I started I saw a few horses heads pop out of stalls, including Donas, the 'irritable' horse from before that had wanted my apple. I went through some old folk songs that I remembered (which probably were current in this time), like Amazing Grace, Greensleeves, and The Parting Glass, and was about to start on the Skye Song, when I remembered that the events it lamented had not yet come to pass. I switched to my improvised Bon Jovi song from before, and then paused, thinking about what I could possibly sing next.

"Mistress Claire?" A young voice piped up. I looked over, and Hamish was at the door to the stables. "Dougal wants ye. Sent me to find ye."

I hopped slowly off of the fence post and followed him. As we approached the castle, I noticed that Angus was behind us. Had he been at the stables too? Either he'd gotten better at shadowing me secretly, or was keeping a respectful distance if he knew I was being watched by others. He staggered slightly and I smirked. Or perhaps he'd fallen asleep, or gotten drunk somewhere and was only now catching up with me.

"I've never heard that hymn sung to that tune Mistress." Hamish piped up. The children were always ready to play, and talk with me.

"I suppose I must have learned it differently." I said, smiling.

"Why do ye run around the lake in the morning?" Hamish asked, seemingly completely unrelatedly. "Ellie says it's so that ye ward off the water."

"What do you mean 'ward off the water'?"

"The fair folk have trubble wi' water Mistress. The ones that come from it canna leave it, the ones that don't, canna enter it. And Ellie, Owen, Mac, Gwyn, Roger, and me, all heard the stories, and seen the proof that ye're special."

I slowed my walk. "What proof? You think I'm a faerie?"

"Not a faerie. A white lady mebbe. We aren't sure yet. But we keep ye safe, and ye protect us."

"What proof?" I re-asked.

"Ye've a gift with the animals, the men are all afeared of ye. Ye speak strange, and sing nice. Ye walk around silent like in the castle. Given some o' the adults frights. Yer a good healer too Mistress. Colum's been right happy since ye came, and he tells stories to mother about yer turning silver at night, and saving the men." We were coming up to the keep, and so Hamish's voice dropped low and conspiratorial.

"Will ye keep bringing us luck Mistress?"

"What kind of luck have I brought?" I asked, instead of answering.

"Well Owen's mother made it through the birth of his brother - which no one thought she would. Ellie found a silver piece. Mac got given two extra bannocks by Mrs Fitz the other day. Roger didna fall off his horse during his first lesson."

"But none of those are my doing." I interjected, still confused.

"Aye, but all of them happened after we came to see ye, ye ken." Hamish patted my arm gently. "It's alright Mistress. We won't share the secret."

I remained quiet at that point. It was partially my fault, I supposed, but also a lot of superstitious misattribution. If the children kept to themselves, perhaps I wouldn't be in too much trouble, but the fact that the adults - even Colum - were talking about me in the superstitious manner... I was unsettled to say the least. As we entered the courtyard, Hamish stopped, bowed, and I looked up from my musings. Dougal was approaching, a big smile for Hamish. As I looked between the two I bit my lip. Absolutely Hamish was his son. The family resemblance combined with the unusually warm familiarity from Dougal made the connection so obvious.

"Thank ye lad. Off ye go."

Hamish disappeared, and I was left standing in the courtyard with Dougal. There were plenty of people around, and the space was wide and open, so I felt less vulnerable than our previous meeting, but still unsettled. Was that Hamish's doing? Or my own subconscious fears about Dougal?

"I was wonderin' if ye'd had a chance to stock up, like I suggested?" he began.

"Actually yes. Thank you for that, I've got quite the stock room piled up." I said back.

"You were saying to Colum that ye needed betony and odd herbs?"

"Yes, to make medicines for those with food poisoning. It's a growing concern at the camp along the river. What of it?" I asked.

"I'm going down to the smith's in the village, taking three horses to be shod. The fiscal's wife is something of a herb-woman, and has stocks to hand. If it pleases ye, lady, you're welcome to ride one of the horses wi' me."

"Mrs Duncan?" I asked. It would be nice to see Geilie again. "Absolutely. Uh - let me fetch a basket."

Within an hour I was seated comfortably in Gelie's apothecary. She was absolutely thrilled to have such company. She chattered away about all kinds of town gossip, and the herbs and medicines, and poisons - which unsettled me slightly - that she had been concocting. She had a wry tongue, and cynical viewpoint that was a refreshing contrast to the sweet and suspicious women of the castle. She knew about every scandal that had occurred in the castle in the last ten years, and yet asked me very few questions about myself. What little I contributed though - I felt her absorbing with every pore.

"That bucket ye were splashed with in the courtyard..." Geilie began, "I'm only half convinced it was an accident ye ken..." she began a story, but my attention was diverted. There was a crowd gathering up noise outside, and I peered down into the street. Geillis came to join me at the window.

I could see a crowd of folk dressed in church-going garb of gown, kirtle, coat, and bonnet, led by the stocky figure of Father Bain, the priest who served both village and castle. He had in his custody a young boy - for a heart shattering second I thought it was Owen - perhaps twelve years old, whose ragged trews and smelly shirt proclaimed him a tanner's lad. The priest had the boy gripped by the nape of the neck, a hold made somewhat difficult to maintain by the fact that the lad was slightly taller than his minatory captor. The crowd followed the pair at a small distance, rumbling with disapproving comment like a passing thunder cloud in the wake of a lightning bolt. As we watched from the upper window, Father Bain and the boy disappeared beneath us, into the house. The crowd remained outside, muttering and jostling. A few of the bolder souls chinned themselves on the window ledges, attempting to peer within. Geilie shut the window with a slam, making a break in the anticipatory rumble below.

"Stealing, most like," she said laconically, returning to the herb table. "Usually is, wi' the tanners' lads."

"What will happen to him?" I asked, afraid. She shrugged, crumbling dried rosemary between her fingers into the mortar.

"Depends on whether Arthur's in a fair mood this morning. If his stomach is okay, and he's made a good breakfast, the lad might get off with a whipping. But happen he's costive or flatulent"—she made a moue of distaste—"the boy'll lose an ear or a hand, most like."

I was horrified, but hesitant to interfere directly in the matter. I was an outlander, and an Englishwoman to boot, and apparently enough rumours were flying around about my supernatural abilities that I needed to tread lightly. While I thought I would be treated with some respect as an inhabitant of the castle, I had seen many of the villagers surreptitiously make the sign against evil as I passed. My intercession might easily make things worse for the boy.

"Can't you do anything?" I asked Geilie. "Speak to your husband, I mean; ask him to be, er, lenient?"

Geilie looked up from her work, surprised. Clearly the thought of interfering in her husband's affairs had never crossed her mind. "Why should you care what happens to him?" she asked, but curiously, not with any hostile meaning.

"He's only a boy; whatever he did, he doesn't deserve to be mutilated for life!" She raised pale brows; plainly this argument was unconvincing. Still, she shrugged and handed me the mortar and pestle she had been using.

"Alright." She tucked her hands into her dress, lifting her bosom out slightly to make it protrude further from the dress. "Let me see what I can get away with."

I was reminded of a young boy, in my travels with Joe. He was in a small, poor village, up a mountain top. He had no hands left - had them both taken for stealing food - and yet was still fighting, still trying to provide for his baby sister. We'd not stayed in the village too long, but Joe had practically held a knife to my own hands to get me to leave without trying to bring the boy too. "It isn't our place Lady Jane."

It isn't our place. This wasn't my place. I was as much an outcast here as I had been in that village. I was only protected by my mysterious origin, and the subtle and incorrect hints that I was somehow an extremely wealthy woman. Was I a fool to try and make this existence my new life? Was I just trying to make amends here, now, in Scotland, for the dozens of people I'd had to ignore in my ten years of travels? I hadn't realised I was crying until a traitorous tear splattered onto my chest. I hurriedly wiped it all away, and waited for Geillis to return.

"You should have seen me," she said, giggling. "I was awfully good, an' I say it myself. All womanly kindness, with a small dab o' maternal pity mixed in. 'Oh, Arthur,' " she dramatized, " 'had our own union been blessed'—not much chance, if I've aught to say about it," she said, dropping the soulful mask for a moment with a tilt of her head toward the herb shelves—" 'why, how would ye feel, my darling, should your own son be taken so? Nae doubt it was but hunger made the lad take to thievery. Oh, Arthur, can ye no find it in your heart to be merciful—and you the soul of justice?' "

She dropped onto a stool, laughing and pounding her fist lightly against her leg. "What a pity there's no place for acting here!"

I hardly heard her. I turned around, looking towards the window. If the boy was not to lose a hand, what on earth could the punishment be? Arthur Duncan was swollen with benevolence, bowing and nodding to the more eminent members of the assembly. Father Bain, on the other hand, had a face like thunder.

"He'd already confessed by the time I came in, I couldna get him freed entirely. I got him off as light as could be, though; only an hour in the pillory and one ear nailed."

"Nailed to what?" I asked, and Geillis looked at me, now with suspicion. "Why, the pillory, o' course. Do they not have crime where you come from Claire?"

"They do. It's just dealt with..." my mind stopped me from saying 'more humanely', as I remembered the handless boy. "Differently. Usually."

The lad, white-faced and small in the jaws of the pillory, had both eyes tight shut and kept them that way, shuddering with fear. He uttered a high, thin scream when the nail was driven in, audible through the closed windows, and I shuddered a bit myself.

Geillis returned to her work, trying to strike up a conversation, but my thoughts were distracted. I had made the resolution to stay here, to try and make this place my home. I had thought - had hoped - that I might make a difference here. But really, could I? I was up against a wolf pack, kept alive by the menial scraps of food I occasionally threw in. If my usefulness was to expire - in any capacity - I had no doubt I would be ousted. Had I made a rash decision, based on the hope for what? For human connection? For possible romance? I thought of Jamie then. Was I imagining his friendship? His potential feelings? How ridiculous was I being here? I tried to remember the noble arguments and sentiments that had kept me here so far, but the nagging thought of a small scared boy _nailed_ to the pillory a few dozen feet away, seemed to swallow them all up.

The Duncan's scullery maid opened the door to the parlor and unceremoniously announced, "In here." I looked over, expecting Dougal, and instead, my heart filled with relief.

Jamie ducked automatically as he came through the door, bright hair darkened by the rain to the color of ancient bronze. He wore an elderly and disreputable coat against the wet, and carried a riding cloak of heavy green velvet folded under one arm. He nodded in acknowledgment as I rose and introduced him to Geilie.

"Mistress Duncan, Mrs. Beauchamp." He waved a hand toward the window.

"I see ye've had a wee bit doing this afternoon."

Jamie spread the cloak and held it for me. "Colum thought ye'd be soaked through if ye tried to return in this weather. I'd business in the village, so he sent along the cloak with me for ye. You're to ride back wi' me."

"That was kind of him." The guests of Leoch were treated as royally as possible. Colum - whatever his suspicions were of me - had never made me feel as though I were to be thrown in a jail, or nailed to a fucking pillory. I thanked Geillis with a hug, Jamie thanked her with a bow, and Jamie and I began to retreat to the outside.

"How long must the boy stay there?" I asked Jamie when we were out of earshot of Geillis, and in full view of the poor young lad.

"He's free to leave. It's only the lad's not got up courage to tear the griss from his lug yet. He's still a bit nervous, but I imagine he'll set his mind to it soon. It's wet out, and growing dark as well. We must leave ourselves, or we'll get naught but scraps to our dinner."

I stood sheltering beneath the eave of the house, as Jamie tied a box to his horse's saddle. The rain was coming down harder now, and the eaves ran with a ragged sheet of water. I eyed the broad back and muscular forearms as he lifted the heavy box with little apparent effort. Then I glanced at the plinth, where the tanner's boy, in spite of encouragement from the regathered crowd, was still firmly pinioned. Granted this was not a lovely young girl with moonbeam hair, but Jamie's earlier actions in Colum's hall of justice made me think that he might not be unsympathetic to the youngster's plight. Plus, I seemed to have that life-debt thing I could work on with him, if he really refused.

"Jamie?" I began, worriedly. He caught my tone, and stared me down.

"Aye?" he said, warily.

"You're, er, quite strong aren't you?" I asked.

He flexed one hand and the smile appeared and widened. I wondered if he knew what I was going to ask. "Aye, that's so. Happen you've a few chestnuts you want cracked?" I glanced briefly past him to the fear-frozen boy.

"More like one to be pulled from the fire, I think." I looked up to meet that questioning blue gaze. "Could you do it?"

"Ye've got a soft spot for children Claire. Or the young in need perhaps. First Laoghaire, now this?" Jamie teased, stretching out his fingers.

"Could you do it?" I asked again. "And If I remember rightly, you helped a little with Laoghaire."

He stood looking down at me for a moment, still smiling, then shrugged. "Aye, if the shank's long enough to grip. Can ye draw the crowd away, though? Interference wouldna be looked on kindly, and me a stranger." I had not anticipated the possibility that my request might put him in any danger, and I hesitated, but he seemed game to try, danger notwithstanding.

"Well, if we both went over for a closer look, and then I were to faint at the sight, do you think—?"

"You being so unused to blood and all?" Jamie laughed. "Ye may lose a few customers in the healing department Claire."

"They'll come when they really need me." I responded. My heart was racing.

"Aye, that'll do. If ye can make shift to fall off the plinth, still better."

Jamie edged casually through the fringe of people, climbing up to the boy. "Na then, lad," he said, clicking his tongue. "Got yourself in a rare swivet, have ye no?"

He rested one large, firm hand on the wooden edge of the pillory, under pretext of looking more closely at the ear. "Och, laddie," he said, disparaging, "yon's no job to be making heavy weather of. A wee snatch o' the head and it's over. Here, shall I help ye?" He reached out as though to grasp the lad by the hair and wrench his head free. The boy yelped in fear. Recognizing my cue, I stepped back, taking care to tread heavily on the toes of the woman behind me, who yipped in anguish as my boot heel crushed her metatarsals.

"I beg your pardon," I gasped. "I'm…so dizzy! Please…" I turned away from the pillory and took two or three steps, staggering artfully and clutching at the sleeves of those nearby. The edge of the plinth was only six inches away; I took a firm hold on a slightly built girl I had marked out for the purpose and pitched headfirst, taking her with me. We rolled on the wet grass in a tangle of skirts and squeals, as the girl I dragged down with me fell, her head cracked on my lip, splitting it slightly. Letting go of her blouse at last, I relaxed into a dramatically spread-eagled heap, rain pattering down on my upturned face, as my eyes watered, and my lip throbbed. I was winded by the impact—the girl had fallen on top of me—and I fought for breath, listening to the babble of concerned voices gathered around me.

"Mistress?" A pair of familiar strong arms that raised me to a sitting position, and a pair of gravely concerned blue eyes that I saw when I opened my own. A faint flicker of the eyelids told me that the mission had been accomplished, and in fact, I could see the tanner's lad, napkin clutched to his ear, making off at speed in the direction of his loft, unnoticed by the crowd that had turned to attend to this new sensation. The villagers, so lately calling for the lad's blood, were kindness itself to me. I was bombarded with offers of brandy, tea, warm blankets, ointment for my lip and sympathy. I was only allowed to depart at last by Jamie's stating bluntly that we must go, then lifting me bodily off the grass and towards the horse. Mounted once more in front of him, my own horse led by the rein, I tried to thank him for his help.

"No trouble, lass," he said, dismissing my thanks.

"But it was a risk to you," I said, persisting. "I didn't realize you'd be in danger when I asked you."

"Ah," he said, noncommittally. And a moment later, with a hint of amusement, "Ye wouldna expect me to be less bold than a wee Sassenach lassie, now would ye?"

He urged the horses into a trot as the shadows of dusk gathered by the roadside. We did not speak much on the rest of the journey home. And when we reached the castle, he left me at the gate in view of Rupert, with a warm smile, and a quick bow.

"Goodnight, Mistress."


	12. Chapter 12

My medical practice had decided to drop off dramatically, as we approached the Gathering day. Even the usual burns and splinters seemed to disappear - probably because everyone was too busy to stop and come see me. Mrs Fitz, usually welcoming my help, had shooed me from the kitchens in the kindest way possible. I'd not be of enough help to counteract my need for guidance today. The least busy place in the entire castle was now the stables. I hadn't found Jamie there, which was unusual, but perhaps he too had been carted away in preparations. I escaped away for a few hours, avoiding all people, and slipping apples quietly into the stalls of my favourite horses, brushing some of the kinder ones.

I took a chance, offering an apple, and showing a brush to Donas. He took the apple, and let me begin brushing his neck. His face came right up to mine at one point, and he sniffed extremely closely at my lip. After a few seconds he sidled away and prodded his nose into my dress, knocking me back into the stall door. I opened up my pouch, and let Donas take two more apples, beginning to brush his other side, and flank. After another few minutes he began butting my head, to ask for another apple.

"You'll get fat." I scolded, and began leaving the stall. He snorted, and stamped a foot, reminding me of an indignant child. "Fine. But next time, I want to brush you without needing a basket full of apples." I tossed one more to him, and then I walked over to the stall I knew the pregnant mare was housed in. She was there, lying still, breathing heavily. I offered her an apple, but she didn't take it. She was likely close to labour. She was restless, but seemed calm for the most part.

"Alright Thistle." I put the apple down in the stall, within reach of her head. If she wanted it, she could take it. A strong snort from Donas behind me, warned me of an incoming presence. I wheeled around, to find Angus _and_ Rupert both looking at me. They both looked a fair bit cleaner than usual, and I could have sworn Rupert had attempted to tame his beard.

"Now Mistress." One began.

"Tonight is a verra important night, ye ken."

"We'd ask that ye stay in the castle -"

"-and oot of trubble -"

"-so that we -" Angus flicked a hand between himself and Rupert. "-might enjoy the only Gatherin' we're likely to see for a score of years."

I smiled wryly. It was a pretty reasonable request, and I had nothing better to do. "I was just checking in on Thistle. She's likely to give birth soon."

"Regarrrrdless..." Rupert began again, rolling his 'r' to emphasize his point.

"Alright!" I raised my hands in surrender. "I'll go up to the castle and get ready."

Mrs Fitz, upon catching me in the kitchen, my usual walk-through route, shrieked in horror. I was about to apologize for being in the way when she dropped what she was doing and attached herself to me.

"My dear, ye slipped my mind entirely. I hadna thought today about dressing ye for the occasion. Letitia has set aside a mighty fine dress for ye- her mother's I think - she's a fair bit taller than her, more like yerself. I'll fetch it instantly. Here," she handed me a small glass bottle, which upon opening I discovered smelled like lavender. "Bathe, and apply, I'll be with ye again shortly."

I hurried downstairs, feeling a need to rush so as not to take too much time out of Mrs Fitz's evening preparations. I bathed as quickly as I could, with soapy and cold water, adding some of the lavendar oil to my hands to brush into my hair. That might help to tame it slightly. I slipped on Anna's dress - the fanciest 'shift' I owned - just in time. Mrs. Fitz came bustling down the stairs. The dress was indeed beautiful. It was plaid, and had sleeves trimmed with a champagne lace. The corset was pulled tighter, accentuating what bust I had, and very much limiting my breathing. I added a few of my own bangles to my wrist, and put on my one decorative ring.

"Beautiful. Absolutely stunning." She exclaimed at the final product.

"Thank you, Mrs. Fitz." She herself bustled off to get ready, claiming that she would come to collect me momentarily. When she did, we did not progress to the hall, as I had anticipated, but rather to the upstairs gallery. Several faces turned, as we entered, blinking, to look at me as I came out of the hangings at the back of the gallery; from the looks of it, all the women of the castle were up here. I recognized the girl Laoghaire, Magdalen and some of the other women I had met in the kitchens, and, of course, the girls made an instant space for the formidable Mrs. FitzGibbons, in a position of honor near the balustrade. She brought me along with her. I could see the whole Hall spread out beneath. The walls were decked with myrtle branches, yew and holly, and the fragrance of the evergreens rose up into the gallery, mingled with the smoke of fires and the harsh reek of men. There were dozens of them, coming, going, standing talking in small groups scattered throughout the hall, and all clad in some version of the clan tartan, be it only a plaid or a tartan bonnet worn above ordinary working shirt and tattered breeches. The actual patterns varied wildly, but the colors were mostly the same the plaid indicitave of Clan MacKenzie. Most of them were in kilt, plaid, bonnet, and—in most cases—badges. The sudden waft of a close manlier smell hit my nostrils and I turned to see Murtagh beside me, nodding his head at me.

When the silence fell in the hall, Dougal Mackenzie approached Colum in his chair. Colum rose, and met him, waiting for what I could only assume was dramatic effect. Colum began speaking, in Gaelic, and Murtagh whispered a gentle translation for me. The gist of the speech was about belonging, honour, clansmen, loyalty and such things. It felt as though it were a birthing speech for a king, and was certainly accepted as such. The speech was greeted with periodic roars of approval, and then the oath-taking truly began.

Dougal drew his dirk with a flourish and sank to one knee, holding the dirk upright by the blade. His voice was less powerful than Colum's, but loud enough so that every word rang through the hall. He began speaking in Gaelic again, and Murtagh translated.

"I swear by the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the holy iron that I hold, to give ye my fealty and pledge ye my loyalty to the name of the clan MacKenzie. If ever my hand shall be raised against ye in rebellion, I ask that this holy iron shall pierce my heart."

I realised that Murtagh was reciting, rather than actively translating, as he finished a few moments before Dougal did. Dougal lowered the dirk, kissed it and sheathed it. Still kneeling, he offered both hands clasped to Colum, who took them between his own and lifted them to his lips in acceptance of the oath so offered. Then he raised Dougal to his feet. Turning, Colum picked up a silver goblet, and drank from it, and offered it to Dougal. Dougal took a healthy swallow and handed back the cup. Then, with a final bow to the laird of the clan MacKenzie, he stepped to one side, to make room for the next man in line. This same process was repeated over and over, from vow to ceremonial drink. Murtagh did not bother to translate after the first oath. Viewing the number of men in the line, I was impressed anew at Colum's capacity. I was trying to work out how many pints of spirit he would have consumed by the end of the evening, given one swallow per oath-taker. The women began respectfully whispering, exchanging drinks, and I realised that until the long line of oath takers had concluded, no party would be allowed. I looked around the room for Jamie, and didn't see him.

"No Jamie?" I asked Murtagh quietly. He stiffened, and pulled me aside, to a quiet corner.

"It's a point of contention here, lass. With him being the Laird's nephew, if he swears allegiance to Colum, he becomes next in line for Leoch."

"What about Hamish? Or Dougal?" I asked.

"Hamish isn't old enough. And Dougal holds no rights if Jamie declares his intentions. He'd gladly kill him for answering yes."

"So he doesn't swear allegiance then, what's the problem?" I asked, not understanding.

"It's an insult to the clan, and right now, clan land and men are the only thing protecting Jamie from the law. They'd rip him to shreds, and then hand him to the redcoats again."

My stomach dropped. I hoped that for the life of me, Jamie would stay hidden for a few days. I looked around the hall, seeing Geillis Duncan engaged in conversation on the other side of the room. She winked at me, noticing my gaze, and continued talking to a woman dressed in a peppermint colour.

Peppermint. Peppermint and lavender. Of course. Thistle was so wound up, the opposite of relaxed that she couldn't settle into her labour. Both peppermint and lavender had muscle relaxing properties, and I believed I had some in stock. I excused myself politely and gingerly, making my way back down to my room. It was mostly dark, and therefore not an easy feat, but I managed. I rifled through a few of my jars until I found the dried lavender, and peppermint stocks. I grabbed a small cloth pouch, and stuffed it with fragments of both herbs. I knew that horses usually began foaling at night, and I also knew that Thistle was close. I tied a long string to the pouch, and left it on my surgery table. I'd see her in the morning. I bit my lip as I pondered Jamie, and the precarious position he held in the hold. Much like my own he was both protected and in danger by remaining at Leoch. Who knew we had so much in common? I made my way up the stairs, and crossed the castle, looking for the stairwell that led up to the area Geillis Duncan was in. Finding my way to that side of the hall proved to be much more confusing and taxing than I had hoped. I came around a corner and bumped straight into a group of clansmen.

The men I had bumped into were more of the class of men camping down by the river, than staying in the castle, or so I had quickly judged by the fact that they seemed to smell strongly of whiskey and look slightly worse than the others in the hall, and by the fact that one was pissing in the corridor. I whirled around quickly, trying to go back the way I'd come. Several hands reached out to grab me, and I found myself pressed uncomfortably against a dark corner, heart racing. I gently stepped out of my shoes as quietly as possible, as they talked and jeered in Gaelic. Most of the men were waiting to the left, and there was a clear path to the right, if only I could get the one currently at my neck off of me. One of his hands obliged, forcing its way into my bodice. My knee came up to kick him, and as his other hand let go of my neck to save himself from falling over, I booked it. I felt the reaching grasp of a man, who'd managed to grab a small chunk of my hair, and tugged it loose. I could hear angry jeers, and cries, as well as the heavy thuds of faster feet running up to meet me. I whipped around another corner, bumping straight into another man, we knocked straight over and his head cracked the stone as he broke my fall. It was Dougal Mackenzie, and he was knocked out cold, a half drunk bottle of whisky rolled out of his grip.

"Fuck." I whispered, heart pounding. I scrambled up, and continued to run, finding a stairwell. I ran down, instead of up, hoping that it was the one that led to the kitchens - it was incredibly hard to tell in the dark. Instead, I ended up bursting out of a wooden door that led to the small horse-hook area of the courtyard. I could hear angry yells behind me. It sounded like the men might have found Dougal. I ran again, to the only place I could think of that was safe, and had a hiding spot that I could calm down in, without bumping into any more drunk clansmen. My stocking-clad feet hurt pounding against the gravel, and I switched to the grass as soon as I was able, I bolted for the stables, almost as fast as the horse I was hoping to see.

When I reached the stables, I backed into it, looking at my escape route, checking for followers. There seemed to be none. My breath heavy, but not out of control, thanks to my usual runs, I tried to take a deep and slow one. One of my feet hurt considerably, and I wondered what I had stepped on in the dark. I'd take a look in a minute. I backed into the quiet, warm, space, feeling my feet crunch lightly on straw. I still couldn't see anyone. Backing into the stable, I had gone slightly towards a stall, and managed to trip straight into a hay pile that responded much like a hay pile shouldn't. I heard a harsh Scottish swear, and suddenly found a body pressed on top of mine, cold steel at my neck. It was pulled away almost as soon as I had registered it.

"Claire?" It was Jamie. "What are you doing here?" He sat up, leaving me lying in the hay.

My whole body relaxed with relief, and I actually began sobbing. Jamie panicked slightly, pulling me up to meet him in a hug.

"Did I hurt you?"

"N-No." I breathed. "I've just, had a rough few minutes." I took the smallest of seconds to take another deep breath, and while still in the face-obscuring hug, began to relay my tale. When I spoke of bumping into the men in the corridor, Jamie stiffened, and pushed me away, checking me over visually for marks, tilting my chin slightly to look at my neck.

"I'm alright. I got away before they could do any harm. But I ran in the dark, full force into Dougal, and knocked him flat on the stone. I heard his head hit the ground, and he passed out instantly." My foot was beginning to throb slightly. I ignored it. "Oh god, what if I killed him?"

"I doubt it. He's had a hard heid his whole life. Fell off more horses than's stabled here and lived. After that?"

"After that, I ran. I ran down, and out, and the only place I could think of was safe."

"The stables?"

"Yes." I blushed. I knew that the stables felt safe because this was where I always found Jamie. I quickly tried to make my reasoning sound more logical. "Donas' stall is the safest place in the keep. No one fucks with that horse."

Jamie cracked a smile, and shook his head. "Only you, Sassenach, could come running to that demon of a horse for help. Christ I'd be a fly on the wall to see it work, and knowing you it would." His head suddenly snapped towards the keep. "The only problem in your escape plan Sassenach, is that half the men from the Gathering think ye to be a spy."

"And?" I asked, as he stood up, looking back towards the castle, hand on his sword reflexively.

"And ye've just knocked out the war chief, and escaped to the horses. Any respectable English spy would want a quick getaway to report seeing the MacKenzie Clan fighting force in full number."

It took me a beat, but I heard them too, the jostling of boots and metals, with hoarse voices headed towards the stables.

"They're not going to believe I came here to calm down are they?" I asked, heart beginning to race again.

"Unlikely." Jamie said, thinking. "Perhaps on a reasonable night, but half drunk as they are..." He seemed to be straining to come up with an excuse.

"Come here, quickly," I said, reaching for him. I pulled him down on top of me, and he braced himself with his one good arm for the impact, trying not to squish me as he fell. He began to mumble a question, but I answered it by hiking up my skirts a reasonably far distance, and wrapping one - now bare - leg around his, holding him tight. Jaime froze with understanding.

"Sassenach..." he started. I grabbed his neck, urging him to come closer to my face, and let out a rather loud, and normally embarrassing moan. I heard the shout of men approaching the door when Jamie finally gave in, leaning forward to bury his face in my neck. I let out another quick moan, and the stable door opened abruptly. We both broke away from each other, me in pretend embarrassment, Jamie in real embarrassment. I hastened to cover my legs with my skirts, and brush the straw from my hair, looking firmly at the ground.

"Christ man, could ye not have waited a few more minutes?" Jamie scolded, and I fought back a smile, turning away from the guards in the pretense of fixing my dress.

"Jamie?! Och, it's the Laird's nephew. I wondered where ye'd got to. Ye shoulda been up at the Gatherin' by now."

"Aye, but apparrrently he had a bit of an - eh - engagement first." One of the men chuckled.

"That's where the wench was running off to? Hah! Dougal thought she was off to escaping!"

"Escaping?" I interjected, as if this was new information. "The only thing I've managed to escape from tonight is a few drunk and handsy clansmen! What the hell did you think I was going to do, no escort, no clothing or food stocks? So much for being an honored guest here. Apparently you're all under the impression that I'm a imbecile as well as a spy!" At least two of the men managed to look guilty. One of them just looked scared. "And it takes what, six of you, to catch one woman, in fancy dress?"

"Don't be like that Mistress Claire. We're just followin orders." One of the men, who I recognised as a former patient chimed in.

"And keeping ye safe." Another of the men added.

"Oh well bravo. Other than scaring me to death, and ruining what had started to be an enjoyable stable visit, you've done a very fine job of that." I crossed my arms and shut up, feeling like I'd appropriately scolded them. The attention did in fact leave me, but instead of just bringing me up to the castle, two of the men grabbed Jamie by the shoulders. He winced at one - his shoulder still twinged. Apparently these men weren't likely to just leave Jamie to avoid the Gathering. They wanted an answer. Dougal wanted an answer.

"Get off. I'll walk wi' ye, wi'out complaint." Jamie said, shrugging off the help. We all began to move purposefully, and quietly toward the castle. I was doing my best not to limp, but I still hadn't looked at whatever injury I had on my foot, and tiptoeing only slightly relieved the pain.

"Stop a minute. Sassenach are ye alright?" Jamie asked, concerned. "Ye're limping."

"Pound her a little hard di-" One of the men started laughing, before he was whacked by another.

"I'm fine. I lost my shoes up at the castle, and stepped on something on the way down." I replied, pretending not to have heard the other man.

"Mind if I carry ye?" Jamie asked, "Ye shouldna be walking on it, at least until ye treat it."

I sensed I wasn't going to have much choice. "Fine." I sighed. Jamie whipped me into his arms quickly, his head now much closer to my ear.

"Well done, in the stables. They'll not bother you a while I think, certainly embarrassed enough at catching an honoured guest so indisposed, and accusing her of spying too. They'll be hoping you won't talk to Colum." He whispered. I was hardly thinking about myself at this point.

"I'm so sorry Jamie. I should have stayed at the castle. You were specifically avoiding this, and now you've got no choice but to swear an allegiance. This is all my fault."

"Nay lass. It might be your doing tonight, but it would have come sooner or later." When we reached the courtyard, Jamie dropped me gently on my feet, but kept his arm around me. I used him to keep the weight off of my foot. The men moved towards the hall, and Jamie stopped.

Nay, let me go and change first, man," he protested. "I'm no decent to be going into the oath-taking like this." His attempt at graceful escape was foiled by the sudden appearance of Rupert, fatly resplendent in ruffled shirt and gold-laced coat, who popped out of the narrow gate like a cork from a bottle.

"Dinna worrit yourself about that, laddie," he said, surveying Jamie with a gleaming eye. "We'll outfit ye proper—inside." Jamie and I followed, hobbling and slowly. It seemed to be giving Jamie some time to think. Rupert appeared to be in very high spirits, as did the other men I saw inside the castle.

Rupert gestured to a door set in the wall, and the men hustled Jamie into a small lighted room. It was one apparently used for storage; odds and ends of all kinds littered the tables and shelves with which it was furnished. Rupert surveyed Jamie critically, with an eye to the straw in his hair and his loose shirt. I saw his glance flicker to the straw in my own hair, and a cynical grin split his face. "No wonder ye're late, laddie," he said, digging Jamie in the ribs. "Dinna blame ye a bit."

The men helped me perch on a barrel, and Jamie began to unclothe. I made very ardent work of lifting my foot up to see the damage. A nice cut, dirty, and would need a bandage, but other than that I'd be fine. A blue bonnet of velvet, adorned with a metal badge that held a sprig of holly was dropped into my lap. I picked up the bonnet to examine it, as Jamie fought his way into the clean shirt and brushed his hair with suppressed savagery. The badge was round and the engraving surprisingly fine. It showed five volcanos in the center, spouting most realistic flames. And on the border was a motto, Luceo non Uro.

"I shine, not burn," I translated aloud.

"Aye, lassie; the MacKenzie motto," said one of the men, nodding approvingly at me. He snatched the bonnet from my hands and pushed it into Jamie's, before dashing off in search of further clothing.

"Jamie I'm so sorry," I said again, nerves wracking up inside me.

"D'ye ken my own motto, lass?" he asked, ignoring my apology. "My clan's, I mean?"

"No," I answered, startled. "What is it?" He flipped the badge once in the air, caught it, and dropped it neatly into his sporran. He looked rather bleakly toward the open archway, where the MacKenzie clansmen were massing in untidy lines. "Je suis prest," he replied, in surprisingly good French


	13. Chapter 13

"Je suis prest," I muttered in response. I am ready. I hoped to god that he was. I hobbled into the hall, and Murtagh appeared, looking flushed and concerned.

"I've been looking for ye. Where the devil have-" he stopped, seeing Jamie emerge behind me, fully clothed, and presentable. Murtagh's eyes widened in understanding.

"Go, stay with him. I'll be upstairs." I said, hobbling quickly to the right of the hall, to the passage Mrs Fitz had shown me earlier. I limped painfully up the stairs, and forced my way to the edge, to see down into the line of clansmen. There were only three left, and the fourth, Jamie, now entered. I saw Laoghaire beside me, lean in, in as much anticipation as I had. My nails were digging into my palms by the time it came to Jamie's turn. He went gracefully to one knee and bowed deeply before Colum. But instead of drawing his knife for the oath, he rose to his feet and looked Colum in the face. Men around him steadied their hands on blades and I stopped breathing. Fully erect, he stood head and shoulders over most of the men in the hall, and he topped Colum on his rostrum by several inches. I glanced at the girl Laoghaire. She had gone pale when he rose to his feet, and I saw that she also had her fists clenched tight. Every eye in the hall was on him, but he spoke as though to Colum alone. His voice was as deep as Colum's, and every word was clearly audible. He, unlike most of the men, pledged in English - and I had to assume that it was for my benefit.

"Colum MacKenzie, I come to you as kinsman and as ally. I give ye no vow, for my oath is pledged to the name that I bear." There was a low, ominous growl from the crowd, but he ignored it and went on. "But I give ye freely the things that I have; my help and my goodwill, wherever ye should find need of them. I give ye my obedience, as kinsman and as laird, and I hold myself bound by your word, so long as my feet rest on the lands of clan MacKenzie."

Colum stood unmoving for a moment, then smiled and held out his hands. After an instant's hesitation, Jamie placed his own hands lightly on Colum's palms. "We are honored by your offer of friendship and goodwill," said Colum clearly. "We accept your obedience and hold you in good faith as an ally of the clan MacKenzie."

There was a lessening of the tension over the hall, and almost an audible sigh of relief in the gallery as Colum drank from the goblet and offered it to Jamie. He drained it, much to the surprise of the onlookers, and there was a gasp of mingled respect and amusement from the spectators, as the powerful throat muscles kept moving. Surely he'd have to breathe soon, I thought, but no. He drained the heavy cup to the last drop, lowered it with an explosive gasp for air, and handed it back to Colum. "The honor is mine," he said, a little hoarsely, "to be allied with a clan whose taste in whisky is so fine."

There was a healthy uproar at this, and he made his way toward the archway, much impeded by congratulatory handshakes and thumps on the back as he passed. Apparently Colum MacKenzie was not the only member of the family with a knack for good theater.

Mrs Fitz laughed beside me, and turned her attention to the women around her. "You wee lassies clear off to your rooms right sharp," she commanded. "If you'll not stay up here safe out o' sight, ye'd best scamper awa' to your own places. But no lingering in the corridors, nor peeping round the corners. There's not a man in the place who's not half in his cups already, and they'll be far gone in an hour. 'Tis no place for lasses tonight."

Pushing the door ajar, she peered cautiously into the corridor. The coast apparently clear, she shooed the women out the door, one at a time, sending them hurriedly on their way to their sleeping quarters on the upper floors. "Do you need any help?" I asked as I followed her down to the kitchens. "In the kitchens, I mean?"

She shook her head, but smiled at the offer. "Nay, there's no need, lass. Get along wi' ye now, you're no safer than the rest." And a kindly shove in the small of the back sent me hurtling out into the dim passage. I was inclined to take her advice, after the encounters I'd had tonight. I began limping from the kitchen towards my room and a quick cough behind me made me squeal.

It was Jamie, and Murtagh. "I figured ye may need help back to your room Sassenach. Considering your knack for getting lost."

"I know my way from the kitchens." I said meekly, wincing as I put my foot down. "But other than that, a Sat Nav would be fantastic."

"If 'satnav' is slang for guide, or map, then ye truly could do with one." Murtagh grumbled. "Keepin track of ye has become a time consuming task."

"I'm sorry about that." I took one more hobbled step, before Jamie - without permission this time - swept me up again. "Oh for Christ's sake, put me down. We're nearly there. You two should be off, celebrating your victory. Certainly you should Murtagh. Did you see the ginger haired lady with the red flower in her hair? She was eyeing you up something fierce. " Murtagh stopped, considering, and nodded his leave.

"She should still be in the gallery." I called after him. He muttered something back in Gaelic. "I truly am alright."

"No sense in hurting the foot any more. You'll be on it tomorrow for the tynchal. They'll need you to help heal."

I resigned myself to being carried to my room, and once again, Jamie brought me all the way downstairs, and rested me on the table. I directed him about which jar and herbs I'd need, so I could stuff them in a small cauldron, and fill it with the fresh water I routinely kept nearby. I cleaned and treated my own foot, wrapping it up, and stepping on it for good measure. The bandages were loose enough that I would be able to walk. However - dress code or no - I would be wearing my running shoes tomorrow.

I hopped over to my bed and sat down, looking into the fire.

"I wanted to apologize -" I began.

"I already said lass, it would have happened sooner or later." He started.

"Not about that. About... well about my behaviour in the stables." I said, beginning to flush red. I stared adamantly at the herb sack I'd made for Thistle. "It was the only scenario I could think of."

"It was a good one," Jamie said. "But I'd be more worried about yer own reputation than mine."

"I'm fine." I sighed. "I wouldn't be the first case of a highborn lady being seduced by a sexy stable boy."

"Sexy?" Jamie asked. I blushed.

"It's slang."

"For?"

"Sexually attractive. Handsome, I suppose. But better." I smiled.

"And you think I'm, sexy?" He asked, smirking. I was saved the horror of having to answer by an exchange of men's voices at the top of my stairs. My door, unlike most of the others in the keep, had a very meager lock, and it was something that I hadn't worried about until tonight. Jamie seemed to sense my apprehension.

"You'll be safe here tonight. I'll not be far this evening," and he turned to leave. "Goodnight, Claire."

"Goodnight Jamie." I responded, tucking my face into my bed. When my door had closed again, I stripped off, and settled down straight to sleep. It had - after all - been a rollercoaster of a night.

Given the late night that the castle folk had experienced, I had expected most inhabitants of the castle to sleep in the next morning, possibly staggering down for a restorative mug of ale when the sun was high—assuming that it chose to come out at all, of course. But Clan MacKenzie were a tougher bunch than I had reckoned with, for the castle was a buzzing hive long before dawn, with rowdy voices calling up and down the corridors, and a great clanking of armory and thudding of boots as men prepared for the tynchal. It was enough to wake me down in my dungeon, and I got dressed warmly, and with an apron on. I was expecting blood today. It was cold and foggy, but Rupert, whom I met in the courtyard on my way to the hall, assured me that this was the best sort of weather in which to hunt boar. "The beasts ha' such a thick coat, the cold's no hindrance to them," he explained, sharpening a spearpoint with enthusiasm against a foot-driven grindstone, "and they feel safe wi' the mist so heavy all round them—canna see the men coming toward them, ye ken."

I didn't think about the reverse ramification of that statement. Hunting a boar was dangerous in every respect. Not to mention that anyone uncoordinated enough may end up shooting a bystander. It wasn't like we would be wearing reflective hazard vests. The hunting party assembled, and seeing the large number of men who set out, armed to the teeth with boar spears, axes, bows, quivers, and daggers, I felt a bit sorry for the boar. This attitude was revised to one of awed respect an hour later, when I was hastily summoned to the forest's edge to dress the wounds of a man who had, as I surmised, stumbled across the thing unwittingly.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" I said, examining a gaping, jagged wound that ran from knee to ankle. "An animal did this? What's it got, stainless steel teeth?"

"Eh?" The victim was white with shock, and too shaken to answer me, but one of the fellows who had assisted him from the wood gave me a curious look. "Never mind," I said, and yanked tight the compression bandage I had wound about the injured calf. "Take him up to the castle and we'll have Mrs. Fitz give him hot broth and blankets. That'll have to be stitched, and that'll take time I don't have right now."

Suddenly there was a piercing scream that rose high above fog and tree, and a flock of birds erupted at the source with a frightening rattle of wings. I didn't have to ask, I just ran, hobbling slightly on my injured foot, and the weight of my medicine. Intent on the shouting, and finding my patient, I didn't notice it until it pulled and tore a small fragment of my skirt, brushing gently against my calf. The beast had been silent, and I understood how my first patient had been caught so unaware. The understanding should have come with some kind of fear, but aside from noting that my ripped dress now had blood splattered on it - clearly the beast had been injured - I was simply driven to find the next poor soul.

When I did, I knew it was not good. The men surrounding him had stopped, spread plaids over him to keep him warm, but the cloth covering his legs was ominously dark with wetness. A wide scrape of black mud showed where he had tumbled down the length of the slope, and a scrabble of muddied leaves and churned earth, where he had met the boar. I sank to my knees beside the man, pulled back the cloth and breathed out sharply. His leg's aorta was punctured, a fatal wound in this era I created a tourniquet anyway, in case. Perhaps he'd make it, if I got here soon enough. I lifted his shirt, to find the other patch of blood, and stopped. The pink and rubbery glistening of ruptured intestines greeted me. The men were looking at me, waiting. I put his shirt back down, and began talking.

"Now then, Geordie," Dougal said, rough voice suddenly gentle. "Now then. I've got him, man. It's all right."

"Dougal? Is't you, man?" The wounded man turned his head in Dougal's direction, struggling to open his eyes. I was surprised, listening as I rapidly checked the man's pulse and vital signs. Dougal the fierce, Dougal the ruthless, was speaking to the man in a low voice, repeating words of comfort, hugging the man hard against him, stroking the tumbled hair. I sat back on my heels, and reached again toward the pile of cloths on the ground beside me, wiping my hands. Then men knew that if I wasn't treating him, then it was too late. I pulled out a sprig of lavender, crushing it in my fingers, and smearing them against his face. The oil would help to relax him.

Dougal then reached forward and deliberately untied the emergency tourniquet I had placed around the man's thigh. He looked at me, challenging me to protest, but I made no move save a small nod. I could staunch the bleeding, and allow the man to be transported by litter back to the castle. Back to the castle, there to linger in increasing agony as the belly wound festered, until the corruption spread far enough finally to kill him, wallowing perhaps for days in long-drawn-out pain. A better death, perhaps, was what Dougal was giving him—to die cleanly under the sky, his heart's blood staining the same leaves, dyed by the blood of the beast that killed him. I crawled over the damp leaves to Geordie's head, and took half his weight on my own arm.

"Can you feel me? Can you feel the cooling?" I asked, knowing he would be starting to cool, and tingle. He nodded his head. "It's a memory, do you see it? Can you see your home?"

"My home?"

"Yes. Tell me about it. " I asked, my voice steady, as it always was, as it had been trained to be. "The pain will be better soon."

"Aye. It's better…now. I canna feel my leg anymore…nor my hands…are ye there? Are ye there?" The numb hands were blindly flailing before the man's face.

"We're here. Tell me about your home. Could you take me there now?" I asked again.

"Not now, Lass. I'll take ye in the summertime." He sighed, relaxing again.

"Why the summertime?" I asked. "Can't we go now?"

"Nae, the heather's not in bloom yet." I reached for my pack, and someone handed it over. I searched, pulling out the tiniest sprig of heather. I crushed that between my fingers, stroking it under his nose. "I can smell it. So thick ye can walk in it. Hear the birds singing?"

"I hear them." I said.

"Do ye see the heather?" he asked. The lack of blood flow to his brain had begun the full hallucinations.

"God, it's beautiful." I replied. "And the breeze."

"Gentle-like. Makes the heather look like the sea. Sounds like it too." He gasped deeply as a man who is bleeding to death gulps for air. "Do you hear it?" The forest was very quiet. His eyes were high above me, staring at an imagined landscape, and suddenly his pupils relaxed.

"Goodbye." I whispered.

No birds sang in the mist, and the men who waited patiently hunkered in the shadow of the trees, were silent as the trees themselves. Dougal and I were very close over the man. He helped me stand, and dictated the men into fashioning a stretcher. The trip up the hill to the castle was silent. I walked beside Dougal, who walked with the beast that Geordie had maimed, and in return had killed him. Dougal paused, reaching out to stay me as I turned toward the stair leading to the surgery.

"I have someone else to -" I started.

"You've seen men die before," he said flatly. "By violence." Not a question, almost an accusation.

"Many of them," I said, just as flatly. "I've seen the deaths of men, women and children brought upon by starvation, cruelty, torture, greed, sickness, disaster and war. And people wonder why I'm a healer." I shook my head sadly, left him standing there and went to tend my living patient.

The next day I was busy non-stop with healing duties. My room became hot, odorous, oppressive. I worked continuously, sometimes sacrificing the quality of my work, to see the next patient. The games from the Gathering were not friendly beer pong and cricket rounds. At the end of the day - I don't think I'd eaten even once. I grabbed Thistle's herb satchel, and walked out of the castle. If they couldn't find me, they couldn't bug me. I hobbled downhill towards the stables, towards my non-speaking, non-needy, non-human friends. I had no doubt that, if my trip there were noticed, then rumours of my amorous activities with Jamie would undoubtedly begin to spread. I made my way into Thistle's stall, coming across no one on the main level. She still hadn't given birth. I rubbed the herb oil into her mane, and over my hands as I played with her face. I sat down beside her, she was laying down again, beginning to pat her side, and the next thing I knew, I was being jostled awake by Alec.

"Lass. It isn't safe to sleep there." He pulled me up, and I nearly fell over again. "Alright, easy lass, easy." He jostled me down onto a pile of hay, and I fell promptly asleep again. The next time I was jostled awake, it was Dougal and Jamie standing over me, looking equally surprised at my presence as I was to be waking up in the stables.

"Has Thistle started foaling?" I asked, probably unclearly. Jamie smiled.

"Not yet. She's working on it though. Alec says ye gave her something to start her?"

"Just lavender and peppermint. Muscle relaxant and stimulant." I stood up, lifting my one foot, so I balanced like a flamingo, and rested my arm against the stall door. "I'm sorry - are you hurt? Did you need something? How's your head?" I asked, Dougal more specifically.

"Naught but a bump." He said, dismissively. Jamie smirked quickly, and then motioned for me to sit on a hay bale nearby.

"I'm leaving, in a few days time." Dougal said, abruptly. "And I'm taking the two of you with me."

"Taking me where?" I asked. I was barely used to Castle life. Was Colum spiriting me away now that the Gathering was concluding?

"Through the MacKenzie lands. Visiting tenants and tacksmen that didnae come to the Gathering. Business."

"But why me?" I asked. Jamie was at least a brawny fighter with a quick brain, who spoke the language of the people.

"A healer may be useful for Colum's tenants, and the travelling party. Colum also thought it wise I take ye to Fort William. The commander there may know something of the travelling companions ye lost." My eyes lit with what Dougal undoubtedly read as hope - but how he attributed that hope was beyond me. I was, in fact, curious. I had seen Fort William in the future, despondent and run down with time. To see it in it's prime would be absolutely fascinating. And then I looked at Jamie's face. It had taken on a paler tone, and I remembered where exactly it was that he had gotten those scars.


	14. Chapter 14

Travelling on the road was remarkably similar to travelling with my Uncle Lamb. He was often in the presence of male academics, speaking foreign languages and discussing topics I didn't understand. When Joe and I traveled, we did it as equals, but with Uncle Lamb, I had been so young, that he had sheltered me from everything. That feeling of isolation was occurring now. The men most often spoke in Gaelic. I don't think it was to be excluding, but rather that they didn't feel the need to be inclusive. Jamie and Murtagh kept busy, and together, they almost as much outsiders in this party as I was.

My new best friend was Ned Gowan. He was a lawyer, a kind soul, a deeply philosophical, and hilarious man. I had interacted with him the first time when I listened to what sounded like an asthmatic cough. I tucked the right herbs into his pipe, to reduce the inflammation of the bronchial tubes, and he was absolutely delighted. I started talking with him about my background, and he his. We sparked up some good theological, philosophical, ethical, and even legal debates. Ned explained to me what we were doing, and how we would be collecting rents and taxes.

"This year I've sent express notice that we will not be accepting pigs." Ned proclaimed, in a tone I found more hopeful than authoritative. I had smiled, and we had continued on. I now understood the need for the large travelling party, and even me, the healer, to protect the taxes and rents collected from the lands.

As it turned out, Ned was equally as fascinated by my stories of other cultures, curious plants and animals, and places as Jamie had been. More often than not, the other men listened in on my descriptive stories too. I talked about mostly things they could understand, or that I could apply some form of analogy to. Without pictures, or sketches, some of the things in my stories were outlandish enough to be unimaginable. They all loved my descriptions of fish, corals, marine animals that they may have heard faint whisperings of. Though none but Ned, and occasionally Jamie, ever actually asked me to tell the stories, all of the men fell silent when I spoke. My first night under the stars was not an easy one. The men all huddled at the fire trading stories and singing songs, while I wrapped myself up into the tiniest of balls under a horse blanket, tucking myself against a tree.

The night was peaceful, quiet, open. I craned my head to look at the myriad of stars above me. It was a beautifully glorious sight. Light pollution didn't exist yet. Fuck that, regular pollution didn't either. I tried to wrap my head around the time scales of things, about famous people who would be alive, or unborn in this year. I wondered about science, and chemistry, astronomy, and even physics. The Theory of Relativity didn't exist yet. Beethoven wasn't born yet. Was Van Gogh? I tried to remember my dates, but - much like my sense of direction - the talent to remember them seemed to be situational.

There was a watch at all times, and when I drifted awake in the early dawn, I went to sit with the watchman I recognized - Rupert. He was civil, and kind. He offered me a bannock for breakfast, and asked about my foot.

"I'm glad we've been riding. It's given it a break. I'll be back to my usual in no time."

"Ye're not going to start _running_ again are ye?" Rupert asked, slightly mortified.

"No." I chuckled. "Only when we're back at Leoch."

"What if ye find yer friends?" Rupert reminded.

"Anna and Joe?" I asked. I sighed, sadly. "I'm afraid I have very little hope of finding them again. I can only hope that whichever country they've traveled to, and eventually settle, that they set up somewhere public, near a trade route. It's my only chance of locating them."

"Dougal thinks the men at the Fort may know something."

"I think Dougal is reaching a little there. My colleagues are not important people, quiet academics, in search of knowledge and meaning, rather than powers or place. I very much doubt that they would have settled anywhere, therefore his hope of a forwarding address for my mail is a little stretched."

"Aye, well mebbe they stayed, to find ye. Ye are important and all."

"I'm not important." I scoffed.

"I meant ranking. High, of some kind. Not sure what exactly ye are, mind."

"I hold no titles I'm aware of, aside from widow." I smiled. "My life, Rupert, has been thus far, the loneliest life you could imagine. I expect even prisoners have more of a family and sense of belonging than I."

Rupert looked saddened for a moment, then looked across the camp, to a sleeping mound of plaid, with fiery red hair at the top. "Things are picking up for ye then Mistress. At least ye have a dozen travelling companions, a room to return to, and a job, now. Not to mention the occasional stable visit." He winked conspiratorially at me, and I laughed quietly.

"Shut up." I scoffed, and stood, signaling the end of the conversation. "Where's a girl go to get some privacy around here?.

We reached the first stopping-place near noon of the second day. It was no more than a cluster of three or four huts, set off the road at the foot of a small glen. A stool was brought out from one of the cottages for Dougal's use, and a plank—thoughtfully brought along in one of the wagons—laid across two others to serve as a writing surface for Mr. Gowan. He seated himself in this and began to lay out inkhorn, ledgers, and receipt-book, as composed in his manner as though he were still behind his lace curtains in Edinburgh. ONe by one, the laird's tenants came to pay rent. It was a leisurely process, with a lot of socializing, which gave me a lot of time to walk around the village collecting herbs. Meanwhile, the men-at-arms lounged beneath the trees or disappeared up the wooded bank—to hunt, I supposed. Variations of this scene were repeated over the next few days. Now and then I would be invited into a cottage for cider or milk, and all of the women would crowd into the small single room to talk with me, it was a welcome invitation always, although I knew my outlander status was intimidating, and made me vulnerable. I did do some general healing though, offering tidbits, and even pulling a stray tooth or two. Sometimes a cluster of rude huts would be large enough to support a tavern or even an inn, which became Dougal's headquarters for the day. Once in a while, the rents would include a horse, a sheep, or other livestock. These were generally traded to someone in the neighborhood for something more portable, or, if Jamie declared a horse fit for inclusion in the castle stables, it would be added to our string. I wondered about Jamie's presence in the party. While the young man clearly knew horses well, so did most of the men in the party, including Dougal himself. Considering also that horses were both a rare sort of payment, and usually nothing special in the way of breeding, I wondered why it had been thought necessary to bring an expert along.

Jamie and Murtagh themselves, had been following the example of the men, civil and distant. I supposed that their strategy was to not alienate their riding partners, or perhaps my stolen moments with the men in Leoch had been unique because of their private nature. Perhaps I was not to be counted as friend in public.

There was one day, in which I climbed a particularly formidable tree without the men noticing. I wanted to get to a mushroom collection I could see that was double my height from the ground. By the time the men saw me, they'd caused a stir, and I had an audience. I, balancing carefully in my tree, yanked off the mushrooms I had gone up for, tucking them carefully in my apron. They were exactly what I thought they were, and extremely out of place. Native to Asia, as far as I could remember, I was still glad to have some Shittake mushrooms for my stock. They were not only edible, and delicious, but good immune boosters. I clambered carefully back down the tree, and Dougal came storming up to me, face thunderous.

"Stay where we leave you, when we leave you."

"I literally haven't fucking moved from the tree you left me at." I counter-argued. "I just went up to collect these, medicinally they -" I unfolded my apron skirt to reveal the half dozen mushrooms I had found. Dougal ripped off my apron, throwing it off to the side. The mushrooms scattered and bounced. I stood there, looking at the apron belt left tucked around my waist. I'd have to sew that now. Without thinking about it, I decked him in the nose. His head whipped back slightly, his hand flying to his nose. I hadn't hit him hard, but it would sting.

"If you want a healer, I'll be a healer. If you wanted anything other than that, I don't see why you bothered dragging me along."

The back of Dougal's hand made contact with my cheekbone, and my eye felt like it was going to explode. Jamie rushed forward, separating us, confronting Dougal, and speaking in Gaelic. My eyes were burning with tears. Apparently my newfound freedom was simply a tighter-leashed prison sentence. Undoubtedly the separation from Colum had something to do with it - he seemed to trust me more. Dougal, done arguing with Jamie, spat on my dress, cursed something I was moderately sure I knew the meaning of, and turned away. I ripped the ruined apron belt off, dropping it with the rest of my damaged and scattered things. Mushrooms forgotten, I scrambled up, walked over to my horse, and began braiding her mane. My fingers shook with adrenaline, and my cheekbone throbbed like it had been lit on fire. The presence of the calm beast cooled my head. I skipped dinner that night, slumping to sleep by a different tree, cradled in some large roots. and pressing my sore cheekbone against the cool wet moss. When I woke in the morning, a freshly mended apron, and a neat pile of mushrooms - some damaged - were tucked beside me. I swallowed hard as I looked at them. I collected them, and continued without talking for the rest of the day. Aside from the basic interactions needed to obtain food, and privacy while shitting, I kept to myself. Murtagh stayed close, silent, and supportive in his own way.

It was a week after we had set out that I found out the real reason why Dougal had wanted Jamie. I sat quietly in the corner of a tavern, sipping sour ale and enjoying the respite from horseback. I was paying little attention to Dougal's talk, which shifted back and forth between Gaelic and English, ranging from bits of gossip and farming talk to what sounded like vulgar jokes and meandering stories. I was wondering idly how long, at this rate, it might take to reach Fort William. And once there, exactly how I might best not part company with the Scots of Castle Leoch without becoming equally entangled with the English army garrison. Lost in my own thoughts, I had not noticed that Dougal had been speaking for some time alone, as though making a speech of some kind. Coming gradually back to an awareness of my surroundings, I realized that he was rousing his audience to a high pitch of excitement about something. I glanced around, and listened. I heard the word 'English' and 'Sassenach', and realised that this was probably a nice and fuzzy hate speech. It had that nice lilting tone, while certain words were spat. I nervously wondered how many of the people around here knew that I was one of those distasteful outlanders. Fat Rupert and Ned Gowan, sat against the wall behind Dougal, tankards of ale forgotten on the bench beside them as they listened intently. Jamie was looking at me, frowning, and leaning forward with his elbows on the table. Murtagh moved suddenly beside me, resting his knife on the table. Wherever the speech was going, they didn't like it either.

With no warning, Dougal stood, seized Jamie's shirt collar and pulled, ripping it open and exposing his back. Taken completely by surprise, Jamie froze. His eyes locked with mine, and I couldn't look away. Anger bubbled inside me, and Jamie set his jaw. I opened my mouth, then caught the word "Sassenach," spoken with no kindly intonation, and shut it again. Jamie, with a face like stone, stood and stepped back from the small crowd clustering around him. He carefully peeled off the remnants of his shirt, wadding the cloth into a ball, and left the room. I didn't understand most of the comments spreading around the room, though the bits I caught seemed to be highly anti-English in nature. I was torn between wanting to follow Jamie outside, and staying inconspicuously where I was. I doubted that he wanted any company, so I shrank back into my corner and kept my head down, studying Murtagh's knife on the table.

Rebellion. I remembered what was going to happen, only a few years from now, to the highlanders, to the Jacobites. From the little I remembered of Bonnie Prince Charlie, the Young Pretender to the throne, part of his support had come from France, but part of the finances behind his unsuccessful rising had come from the pockets of the people he proposed to rule. So Colum, or Dougal, or both, were Jacobites.

Finally, Dougal came over to my end of the tavern, where Ned was also sitting. "Aye, well enough," he remarked. "Canna expect a great deal from such a small place. But manage enough of the same, and it will be a respectable sum."

" 'Respectable' is not quite the word I'd use," I said, rising stiffly from my lurking place. Dougal turned, as though noticing me for the first time.

"No?" he said, mouth curling in amusement. "Why not? Have ye an objection to loyal subjects contributing their mite in support of their sovereign?"

"None," I said, meeting his stare. "No matter which sovereign it is. It's your collection methods I don't care for." Dougal studied me carefully, as though my features might tell him something.

"No matter which sovereign it is?" he repeated softly. "I thought ye had no Gaelic."

"I haven't," I said shortly. "But I've got ears, and whatever 'King George's health' may be in Gaelic, I doubt very much that it sounds like 'Bragh Stuart.' "

He tossed back his head and laughed. "That it doesna," he agreed. I wandered over to the shirt on the ground, collecting it.

"Since ye dinna care for my methods, perhaps ye'd wish to remedy them," he pointed to the shirt. "Mend it."

"Mend it yourself!" I threw it it back into his arms and turned to leave.

"Suit yourself," Dougal said pleasantly from behind me. "Jamie can mend his own shirt, then, if you're not disposed to help."

I stopped, hand out. "All right," I began, but was interrupted by a large hand that snaked over my shoulder and snatched the shirt from Dougal's grasp.

The men offered me a place inside, but I declined. I didn't need the 'luxury'. Outside though, after some time, I gave up any thought of sleeping that night. There was a guard, sitting in quiet watchfulness under a tree by the path, but he merely glanced at me, used to my odd behaviour. Apparently deciding that I was not going far, he went back to whittling at a small object in his hands.

I found a pleasant private spot between two large boulders and made a comfortable nest for myself from heaped grass and the blanket. Stretched at length on the ground, I watched the full moon on its slow voyage across the sky. My thoughts wandered to the circle of standing stones. At least I now thought I knew why the stones had been placed there; they were markers, meant to indicate a spot of danger. A spot where time and it's linear nature apparently had little meaning. Was it a spot where people disappeared without warning. Or appeared, perhaps, out of thin air. I wondered idly what would happen if it worked the other way. What if someone disappeared from this time, and popped up in my own? Well, he might manage to fit into the new time without arousing excessive attention, if he was cautious and lucky. After all, I was managing to pass with some success as a normal resident of this time and place, though my appearance and language had certainly aroused plenty of suspicion. What if a displaced person were too different, though, or went about loudly proclaiming what had happened to him? If the exit were in primitive times, likely a conspicuous stranger would simply have been killed on the spot without further inquiry. And in more enlightened times, they would most likely be considered mad and tidied away into an institution somewhere, if they didn't quiet down. This sort of thing could have been going on as long the earth itself, I reflected.

Deep in my thoughts, I hadn't noticed the faint murmur of voices or the stirrings of footsteps through the grass, and I was quite startled to hear a voice speak only a few yards away. "Devil take ye, Dougal MacKenzie," it said. "Kinsman or no, I dinna owe ye that." Jamie's voice was pitched low, but tight with anger.

"Do ye no?" said another voice, faintly amused. "I seem to recall a certain oath, giving your obedience. 'So long as my feet rest on the lands of clan MacKenzie,' I believe was the way of it." There was a soft thud, as of a foot stamping packed earth. "And MacKenzie land it is, laddie."

"I gave my word to Colum, not to you."

"One and the same, man, and ye ken it well." There was the sound of a light slap, as of a hand against a cheek. "Your obedience is to the chieftain of the clan, and outside of Leoch, I am Colum's head and arms and hands as well as his legs."

"And never saw I a better case of the right hand not knowin' what the left is up to. What do ye think Colum is going to say about the left collecting gold for the Stuarts?"

There was a brief pause before Dougal replied, "None can force them to give against their will, and none can stop them, either. And who knows? It may happen that Colum will give more for Prince Charles Edward than all o' them put together, in the end."

"Aye, and it may happen that Claire'll turn out to be a queen, and have you hanged for striking her. That doesn't mean I'll be curtsying to her tomorrow does it?"

I scowled at my use in Jamie's retaliation, but pondered the vision of hanging the man who'd bruised my face.

"No? You've more to gain from a Stuart throne than I have, laddie. And naught from the English, save a noose. If ye dinna care for your own neck—"

"My neck is my own concern," Jamie interrupted savagely. "And so is my back."

"Not while ye travel with me, sweet lad," said his uncle's mocking voice. "If ye wish to hear what Horrocks may tell ye, you'll do as you're told, yourself. And wise to do it, at that; a fine hand ye may be wi' a needle, but you've no but the one clean shirt." There was a shifting, as of someone rising from his seat on a rock, and the soft passage of footsteps through the grass. Only one set of footsteps, though, I thought. I sat up as quietly as I could, and peered cautiously around the edge of one of the boulders that hid me. Jamie was still there, sitting hunched on a rock a few feet away, elbows braced on his knees, chin sunk on his locked hands. His back was mostly to me. I started to ease backward, not wishing to intrude on his solitude, when he suddenly spoke. "I know you're there," he said.

"How?" I asked.

"I could smell you." he said. "Ye smell of herbs all the time. And yer toes were sticking out."

I sat down near him and leaned back against a rock, watching him carefully. One foot tapped restlessly against the rock he sat on, and he twisted his fingers together, clenching, then spreading them with a force that made several knuckles pop with soft crackling sounds.

It was the popping knuckles that reminded me of Captain Manson. The supply officer for a field hospital where I had worked, Captain Manson, normally a mild and pleasant-spoken man, would retire briefly into his private office and punch the wall behind the door with all the force he could muster.

"You need to hit something," I said. "Eh?" He looked up in surprise, apparently having forgotten I was there.

"Hit something," I advised. "Preferably not me. But you'll feel better for it." His mouth quirked as though about to say something, but instead he rose from his rock, headed decisively for a sturdy-looking cherry tree, and dealt it a solid blow. Apparently finding this some palliative to his feelings, he smashed the quivering trunk several times more, causing a shower of pale-pink petals to rain down upon his head. Sucking a grazed knuckle, he came back a moment later.

"Perhaps I'll sleep tonight after all."

"Did you hurt your hand?" I rose to examine it, but he shook his head, rubbing the knuckles gently with the palm of the other hand. "Nay, it's nothing."

"I didn't know you were a lefty."

"A lefty? Oh, cack-handed, ye mean. Aye, always have been. The schoolmaster used to tie that one to my belt behind my back, to make me write wi' the other."

"Can you? Write with the other, I mean?" He nodded, reapplying the injured hand to his mouth. "Aye. Makes my head ache to do it, though." "Do you fight left-handed too?" I asked, wanting to distract him. "With a sword, I mean?"

"No, I use a sword well enough in either hand. A left-handed swordsman's at a disadvantage." He strode about the grassy clearing, making illustrative gestures with an imaginary sword. "It makes little difference wi' a broadsword," he said.

Using pretend fighting motions, he illustrated the differences between weapon types. Eventually he got to the small knife he carried, and began showing stances with that. During one demonstration, he dropped low and brought the blade up in a swift, murderous jab that stopped an inch short of my breast. I stepped back involuntarily, and at once he stood upright, sheathing the dirk with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I'm showin' off. I didna mean to startle ye."

"I show off plenty. It's about time you had a turn. I only wish I had a bow I could draw. I used to be a fair shot."

Jamie looked at me considering. "I didn't think women learned things like that."

"Again, I'm not like most women." I smiled. "Apparently I might be a queen."

"Sorry about that."

"It's alright. Though the idea of hanging Dougal kept me amused for a while." I carefully rubbed my cheek.

"Ye shouldna struck him."

"He yelled at me for no reason."

"Aye."

"And surely someone as 'braw' as that can take a hit from a girl?" I asked, mockingly.

"Aye. But not in front of the men. His pride was hurt, so he took it out on you. He shouldna hit you though. If Colum found out..." He shook his head.

"There's a few things I'm sure Colum would love to find out." I tugged gently at his shirt. "He'll do it again?" I said abruptly, unable to stop myself. He paused before answering, but there was no pretense of not understanding what I meant.

"Oh, aye," he said at last, nodding. "It gets him what he wants, ye see."

"And you'll let him do it? Let him use you that way?"

"For now," he paused a moment. "Now, off ta bed _yer majesty_ , or you'll be dead on the horse tomorrow."


	15. Chapter 15

My strife with the men didn't end there. More often than not the campfire discussions - if held in English - would be crude jokes and ridiculous tales of demeaning exploits, when in Gaelic I could only imagine, but I did - particularly if Jamie was out of earshot - notice a few heads and murmurs in my direction too. It didn't take a rocket scientist to guess what they were mumbling about.

I had so much time to think. I was convinced that it was that fueling my depressive and frankly bitchy mood. In my time at Leoch - about five and a half weeks or so - I'd been absolutely swamped. Even my slow days were busy. I think I could count one full day of rest. Here, particularly with the lack of trust, I was most often left alone with my thoughts. As the journey went on, and Jamie's back became a point of contention in each tavern, he became blacker with mood too. Murtagh left the both of us alone, probably quite wisely. There was one day in which the men were doing their thing in the village, and I went to rest idly in the woods nearby. I was within earshot of all the usual ruckus, but quietly in the trees. I sat, cross-legged, under a cherry tree, and closed my eyes, listening. I tried to tune out the noise from behind me, and listened to the forest. I wasn't sure how long I sat still for, but a slight, hot, breath mussed up my hair, and I flicked open an eye. A deer, a lone, female doe, was standing a handswidth from me. I breathed quietly, and waited. She sniffed at my hair, and tenderly down to my pack. I wondered what it was in there attracting her interest, but I daren't move. She walked, gently, gracefully past me, grabbing at a few bits and pieces on the ground, before returning to the wood. When I stood up, I caught the faces of about six of our travelling companions, looking strangely at me, from over forty feet away. They'd certainly seen the deer. I sighed, thinking about how to try and explain meditation to a bunch of superstitious Catholics, and thought the better of it. Perhaps the Pagan roots in the men would see the deer as some kind of good luck sign.

The men were quieter that night at supper. Jamie seemed to sense the shift too, and actually came to join us. He sat evenly between the men at the campfire, and I - my usual dozen feet away.

"Mistress Claire?" I heard the voice, and finding I didn't recognize it, searched around for the source. It was a younger man, named Willie - I thought. One of the men to have seen the deer earlier. "Do ye know any travelling songs, or stories? My little sister Ellie says ye sing well, and I thought I heard ye before in the stables."

I thought about the different renditions of the Skye song I knew. It had been tracking itself mercilessly through my head since I'd learned that Dougal was a Jacobite. A little play on the words, and it was safe.

"Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, Say, could that lass be I?

Merry of soul she sailed on a day, Over the sea to Skye.

Mull was astern, Rùm on the port, Eigg on the starboard bow;

Glory of youth glowed in her soul; Where is that glory now?

Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, Say, could that lass be I?

Merry of soul she sailed on a day, Over the sea to Skye.

Give me again all that was there, Give me the sun that shone!

Give me the eyes, give me the soul, Give me the lass that's gone!

Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, Say, could that lass be I?

Merry of soul she sailed on a day, Over the sea to Skye.

Billow and breeze, islands and seas, Mountains of rain and sun,

All that was good, all that was fair, All that was me is gone.

Sing me a song of a lass that is gone, Say, could that lass be I?

Merry of soul she sailed on a day, Over the sea to Skye."

The camp was silent, and I looked around. Though the surrounding area was dark, the men's faces, all lit up by campfires clearly, and their faces were frowning, staring. I blushed.

"Sorry. I keep telling people I can't sing."

"Ye've a decent voice Claire." Jamie assured me, "It's just that ye come out with the strangest and saddest songs. Are they all sad?"

"No. I've got drinking songs, inappropriate songs, love songs." I considered my crazily vast knowledge of songs, purely by bombardment of popular radios. "Would you like a love song instead?"

There were murmurs of agreement around the fire, and I sat up, thinking. One very shy rendition of 'Perfect' by Ed Sheeran later, and the men were smiling. It was silly how much a simple song could affect a mood. It did much for my spirits though, and apparently for Jamie's too.

"Next time we're in a tavern, lass, teach us one of yer strange drinking songs." Piped up Rupert.

"I'll try." I smiled shyly. We had a few days of travel ahead until we reached the next small cluster of villages. Two of those nights were rowdy and crass discussions, but the third night was quiet, eerie, and ripe for storytelling again. This time Dougal asked for a story from my life. I talked that night about Egypt, the pyramids, the Pharaohs, traps and curses laid in tombs. I talked about strange customs, and foods, and bizarre animals. I answered questions, and omitted politics where I could. I barely knew my own country's histories well enough to avoid spoilers, let alone the countries I visited. I wasn't even entirely sure that the countries I could name existed yet, and kept referring to individual towns, and general locations on the continents. I talked until I couldn't think of anything more to say. My throat felt a little hoarse, and I took a small swig from a water flask.

"Get some rest Sassenach." Jamie prompted. Some of the men stood, to find their bed rolls and do the same. I tucked myself into a little rooty alcove, and fell asleep again. When I woke in the morning, Murtagh was sitting a few feet away, staring at me. I jumped at his closeness, and sat up quickly.

"What?" I asked, sleepily.

"Jamie and Mrs Fitz complained often enough about ye being so cold ye'd climb in the fires at the castle ta sleep." He explained. I waited for what that had to do with where I was now. "And yet, ye sleep farthest from it at night." He clarified. I blushed.

"I'm freezing." I admitted, "I don't sleep well without the warmth. It's why Anna, Joe and I traveled mostly warm countries. But everyone else is over there, and I'm not exactly a welcome addition to the party. Plus, I don't need any special accommodation, I already feel like a Sassenach, don't want to be a needy one too."

Murtagh looked at me, without smiling, but nodded, once, and moved away, his curiosity sated. The next town we were in, the line was longer than usual, and quite a few more livestock payments were there. I bit my lip to stop my laugh at poor Ned's face when the first pig was brought up. I, in fact, had to leave the party, walking around the town. I could hear a chorus of singing women, and I traced the noise to the source. It was a wet table that smelled strongly of urine, and had a long stretch of dark wool lain across it. The women were beating it, and singing. They paused when they saw me.

"I'm sorry, I've just never heard a song like that before. Can I help?" I asked, shyly. They were skeptical, but the head woman, Donalda, was much as Mrs Fitz was, adopting. Caring, and welcoming to help. She sat me down, explaining the 'waulking' of the wool, and we began. They sang, while I listened. Heavens knew what we were singing about, but unlike the lads around the campfire, I could be almost positive it wasn't a sexual encounter.

"Gur e mise tha fo ghruaim

'S mi 'n taobh tuath dhan an Stòr.

Mo nigh'n donn hò gù Hì rì rì hù lò

Mo nigh'n donn hò gù

Mo nigh'n donn shònruich mi fhéin thu

ann an broad nam ban òg

Hì rì rì hù lò Mo nigh'n donn hò gù

'S bidh mo làmh na do làimh

Hì rì rì hù lò Mo nigh'n donn hò gù

Dh'aindeoin èildeir tha beò."

When we stopped, we went into a small shack, to drink something incredibly strong, that had my eyes watering. The women laughed at me, as I coughed, spluttering the burning liquor. At the laugh, a baby nearby, woke up, and began screaming. The women all looked sadly around, an unspoken thing passing between them.

"What's wrong with it?" I asked. "I'm a healer, I could help?"

"Unless ye're leaking milk, ma'am, ye cannot help. We had to give the goat to taxes this morning." The joyous and homely women were all somber now, expecting death and starvation for the poor soul. My chest tightened with sadness. As luxuriously as Colum lived back at the keep, surely one goat wouldn't make a difference to him. But to these people... I saw Donalda look up, in confusion behind me, and before I had time to turn around, the nape of my dress was tugged and I fell down into the mud behind me.

"Stop running off, ye blasted woman." Angus was fuming. I picked myself up off the ground, and stood, eye-level with him.

"For the last fucking time, I'm not going anywhere. I was only helping out." I sighed, exasperated.

"Disappearin right under ma nose. Ye reek of piss, and Dougal's fuming." Angus ignored, as he dragged me by my elbow, back to the men.

"You're one to speak. This is the best you'll ever smell."

Angus got out a knife, squaring his jaw.

"Oh be my guest. It'll save me having to listen to your grating voice any longer." I scowled, pushing past him, and heading back to the wagons. Behind me I saw Angus mime stabbing me repeatedly in frustration. Upon reflection of the memory, it looked much like a scene from Psycho, and I'd smile about it, but now, I was furious. I walked straight over to the cart, and began untying a goat, leading it back. Angus' knife disappeared, but his body blocked mine. Dougal came blasting up beside him.

"What in Christ's name are ye doing lass?" Rupert cried.

"Where do ye think ye're taking that?"

"Back to her family. There's a baby that needs milk. It won't kill Colum to lose a goat."

"That is his property now."

"And you are condemning a baby to a slow and painful death."

"Put it back." Dougal turned around to Angus. "How hard is it to keep an eye on a Sassenach wench?

"She's a slippery as an eel." Angus scowled.

"Would you stop talking about me as if I'm not here!" I yelled, getting angry.

"Stop yer havering woman." Dougal scolded, looking dangerous again, he lowered his voice, though his body stature was still dangerous and close. His hand rested on his pistol. "It's payment for rent. Fair and square."

"Is everything alright, Madam?" A clear English voice rang up from behind me. I turned to see a fairly well groomed, gentle looking man in a smith's apron.

"I'm sorry?" I asked, unsure if I'd heard him correctly.

"May I be of service?" He asked again.

"Aye." Dougal interjected. "Keep yer nose to yerself, afore it gets cut off."

"I was speaking to the lady." The man said, not backing down. He looked proud, and confident, and I wondered if he knew who Dougal was. Not many men would circumvent the warchief of Clan MacKenzie.

"The lady is a guest of Clan MacKenzie. And none of yer business." Dougal repeated, standing taller.

"Do you treat all your guests this way?" He asked. I wondered - having no access to a mirror, if the bruise on my cheek was still there. Certainly the man had seen Angus miming the stabbing, and possibly the roughousing too, and the resulting verbal altercation was something the village was being exposed to.

"I suggest ye back off man." Dougal said. Angus, Rupert, Willie, and several other men began to step forward, hands on hilts, signaling their readiness should a fight arise. The man looked around at them all, and then to me, before nodding his head toward me in a bow, and heading back to the smithy. We packed up and left moments after. On my horse, and in my head, the cries of a hungry baby kept me sullen, and on edge. Our next point of camp was close to a lake, and for that I was most grateful. I did smell of urine, and I needed to bathe. I told one of the men as much, and he followed me out to the lake. I recognised him as one of the men that had met me on the first night I'd arrived in this time period. He seemed intent on keeping an eye on me, and obviously unabashed about the prospect of watching me bathe. I dropped my soap bar, and lavender fragments down on the ground by the lake, and walked over to him.

"You remember the night we met?" I asked. He nodded, looking worried. "Remember how silver I was, how unearthly I appeared?" I kept my words slow, quiet, eerie, dredging up the memory of how I could have been something more, something sinister.

"I'd keep your eyes on the ground while I do this if I were you. Particularly if you value your ability to have healthy children in the future." I said simply, and turned, heading back to the lake. I slipped out of my dress, and looked back at him. He was frozen, eyes fixed on the ground. I quickly stole my shift off, and settled into the icy cold lake, grabbing my soap bar. It was the fastest bath I'd ever had, as I was extremely worried about the potential for hypothermia. I crawled back into my shift, squeezing out my hair, and then began climbing back into my dress.

"You can look now." I called out. The man stayed frozen, but nodded. When I got back to the camp, my spirits were up, and I sat by the fire to warm. The day was a bright one, surprisingly beautiful. I'd been brought along on this venture because I'd earned some measure of respect as a healer, but in leaving the castle, I'd earned a tighter leash than ever. My ideals, and outbursts were certainly not going to help the leash, but it was as though Dougal pushed every button I had. All of my self-control regarding situations seemed to disappear, the tighter he grasped me. Somehow my disobedience was convincing him of his suspicions. Over the next few weeks of this voyage, I reigned in my outbursts, but it didn't seem to help. I tried to focus on the scenery around us, the absolute wonder and beauty of an uncolonised landscape. I watched the similarities between life in my time, and life here, and tried to use it to figure out what exactly I was going to do. Was I going to try and escape home? With every fight, every day of oppression, it felt much as though it would be a safer option. But then there were the days where I knew my choice was a good one. The peaceful and amazing moments where I played tag on a field with the children in a village, or learned a new skill, a new word, or better, taught a new skill. At one of our stops I had even managed to deliver a baby.

Jamie was angrier than ever, being used by his Uncle in such a demeaning way, and I became meek and isolated. Except for the occasional sad song I sung at campfire I stayed quiet. I didn't teach them the drinking songs I had promised - I wasn't in the mood.

Our next stop was a village with a large tavern. Large enough, and popular enough, that the men actually bought me a room with a bed to myself. At first I was going to complain, but with the large amount of drunk men around, I realised quickly that it was probably safer that way. After a good meal, and a quick drink, I tucked myself away in my room. I could hear the rowdy laughter and voices from downstairs, mingled with some snores and the occasional toast. I - thanks to the privacy of my room, finally stripped down to my shift, and stretched out on the bed, under my own shawl, rather than the itchy blanket provided.

There was something about the smell, or perhaps the room, that began dredging up memories of Frank. I thought about a time spent teaching languages to each other, or his basic self-defense training skills he had put me through. It occurred to me then, that I was much out of practice, and should probably ask one of the lads to fake attack me. If I kept pushing Angus' buttons, he may very well do it anyway. I thought about how suave, sophisticated, and gentle Frank was. He was almost like a poster boy for an upper-class Englishman, with a streak of rebellion and devil-may-care thrown in. His tolerance - for example - for extreme stunts like skydiving, and free-climbing was unnerving. My brain fluttered around between fights, romantic evenings, sex, clubs, concerts, lazy days, and burnt breakfasts. In the midst of my memories, I realised that my face was wet, and plastering my hair to my cheek. What would he think of me, here, now? Would he be proud? Wary? Ask me home? Encourage me on? I could alter the conversation in my head, depending on what I wanted him to say. The truth was - I really didn't think I knew him well enough to know what he would say.

I did know what Joe would say. His dark, slender mass appeared in front of my nose. Dressed in his usual obnoxious coloured pyjamas, and with the tiniest smidge of toothpaste that he so often wore on his lips when we lived together.

" _Are you happy, Lady Jane?"_

"I don't know." I whispered.

" _Well then. Figure that out first. Then worry about the rest later."_ He smiled his largest smile, and was gone in the haze of my sleepy imagination. His Grandma was next, perched by the fire. I looked over her stout figure, her beauty, her age, her cynical eyebrow.

 _"Are you staying for the cause? For the man? Or for your own soul? Are you running again, Lady, or are you settling?"_

"It feels like I'm always on the move." I whispered back.

 _"On the move can be settled. Running can be still. Which are you doing?"_

Was I running? Running from my responsibilities? From my memories? It didn't feel like it anymore. It felt like I was encompassing them into my life. Developing them, and accepting them. I blinked and she was gone too.

"I guess I'm trying to settle." I whispered to the empty room. I was trying to find a home, a place, somewhere to be loved, and wanted, to be needed, and necessary. Was that with Clan MacKenzie? I didn't know yet.

A creaking of floorboards outside my door made my heart jump. There was the slightest of thumps against my door, and a small scratching sound. Had one of the men made it up here? One of my party, or one of the drunk townspeople downstairs. Most of the men had seen me come up here. I heard the floorboards go again. There was definitely someone out there. Still in my shift, I crept silently out of bed, moving slowly towards the door. I grabbed an idle and empty candlestick on the way. Good enough with a solid whack if I needed it, til I could scream my lungs out, when Jamie or Murtagh would definitely - if still awake - come and assist. I whipped open my door, intent on taking steps past whatever attacker was there, and instead, tripped on something soft, and went crashing to the ground. My head hit something on the way down and the breath was knocked out of me as something hit my stomach.

"Christ Sassenach!" I heard a familiar voice curse. "How much do ye weigh?"

"Jamie?" I asked, untangling myself back into the light of my room. We were both still sitting on the floor. "What are you doing, sneaking about up here?"

"I wasna sneaking about. I was sleepin. Well tryin to. Christ I think ye've squashed my liver."

"My head bumped something on the way down -"

"Aye, _my_ head." He interjected.

"And I got the shit scared out of me, so I'd say we're even." I finished.

"Fine." Jamie agreed, rubbing his head.

"What are you doing out here anyway?"

"Half the men downstairs are far gone with drink, and some o' them with little exercise of restraint. I wanted to guard, in case some o' them came looking for... well, I didn't think ye'd care for such visits."

I was touched by his thoughtfulness. To be so kind, and rewarded with a solid squashing of the liver. My face cracked into a smile. "I'm sorry I stepped on you."

He smiled back, chuckling at the situation.

"You can't sleep out here." I protested, standing finally. "At least come into the room."

Jamie's face looked shocked and offended. I paused, unsure of what kind of reaction that was.

"Sleep, in your room, with ye? I couldna do that - your reputation would be ruined." He looked so sincere that I had to laugh again.

"Are you forgetting our stint in the stables?" I chuckled. "I don't think there's much of it left."

"That's different. That's rumour at best, and back at Leoch. In our travelling we've been respectful, and your honor intact."

I could see that this was an argument I wasn't winning.

"At least can I give you my blanket? I'm plenty warm in here. Or is that too scandalous?" I asked gently, still smiling. He nodded in acquiescence. I fetched it, handing it over, and I began to close the door. I couldn't shake the smile from my face. When the door was closed, and I heard him settle down again, I crouched down to where I thought his head would be, and whispered through the door.

"Jamie?" There was a half beat, before an amused sounding 'Aye' wafted through. "What happens if one of the men does come up here, though? What will they think about you at my door?"

"That's easy Sassenach." He chuckled. "They'll think I'm waiting my turn."

I laughed freely as I stood up, returning to my bed. My face was starting to hurt from the smiling. Perhaps I was happy after all.

.

In the morning, the men of my party were chuckling amongst themselves as I descended the stairs. Undoubtedly they'd notice Jamie head down from the same direction earlier in the morning. And the men who had previously caught us in the stables were making some very accusatory and comical faces. I probably should have been more embarrassed, but it was funny watching them pretend to try and restrain their comments. They were in Gaelic, if at all, and earned some restrained chuckles from the others. I smiled as I approached the table.

"Oh stop giggling like schoolgirls. Pass me a bannock please." I said, not actually scornful. One was delivered to me. I went to go sit by the window, near Ned, who was going through one of his receipt pages.

"Wow, your script is so delicate." I remarked, catching a glimpse of his beautiful handwriting. Ned was pleased.

"Oh thank you lass! I worked quite hard perfecting the quill. It's got to do with the sharpness of the tip, you see-" He stopped, and looked up abruptly at the table of men eating breakfast on the other side of the tavern. They were remarking something, quite loudly, in Gaelic. I looked over at my men, and they had all stopped smiling.

" _Christ._ " I muttered. What now? The first table of men spoke again, one of them miming something to do with squeezing either an ass or breasts, and I wondered what sort of "Your mama" jokes there could possibly be in the Highlands of Scotland that would piss off Dougal MacKenzie. Angus smoothed down his hair. I looked back at the first table to try and ascertain what the topic of discussion could possibly be. The men were laughing heartily, wiping tears from their eyes. I looked back at Ned, and he was stony-faced as well. Suddenly, all of the men from the table beside me got up, and Ned tucked away his receipts.

"Here we go." I sighed, backing against the corner, to watch the damage and be as out of the way as possible. My brain was able to process Murtagh striking someone first, and then all hell broke loose. Wood planks, tankards, plates, and people went flying in a scurry of activity. I heard crunches, and shouts of pain, saw struggles and blows, spitting and blood. I ducked out of the way of an errant goblet, hiding beside Ned, who was doing his best to stand between myself and the dangerous scuffle of activity. A good deal shorter than me, when directly protecting me, I still had a full view of the action over Ned's head. Angus flipped over a table, whether willingly, or forced I hadn't been able to tell. The next place I looked someone was getting strangled with a belt. Ned pulled me to the side, once the way to the door was clear.

"Come, Claire, run." He said, and escorted me out to the horses. You could still hear the yells outside.


	16. Chapter 16

"Three split lips, two bloody noses, one broken nose, twelve smashed knuckles and four loosened teeth." I began listing off.

"And ma ribs hurt a bit!" Willie pitched in. I clamped my jaw shut to avoid saying anything rash, and just glared at him.

"Bastard's fingernail was as sharp as a boars tooth. He gouged a hole in me look!" Rupert said. Angus winced as I rubbed alcohol unforgivingly over a scrape on his hand.

"For the tough Scots you all are, sometimes you're such crybabies." I put the alcohol wipe onto Angus' own face scratches, holding his head back so I could see, and he swore something tragic. "I've literally tended to six year olds with less tears than this."

I moved on to the next patient. Murtagh's lip was split inside, but a salt water swig would be enough to avoid infection. "Any excuse for a fight." I muttered softly.

"You were the excuse." Murtagh responded, and stood up to go sit more comfortably at a table, I whirled around, in shock. "It was your honor we were defending."

"Me?" I asked. I looked over at Dougal, as if for confirmation. He had a tankard of water pressed to his temple.

"The lout called you a whore. Amongst other things." Dougal explained.

"Ye're a guest of the Clan MacKenzie lass." Murtagh said, a rare smile brightening his features. "We can insult ye. But God help any other man that does."

Silence fell in the room as all the men stopped their complaining to nod in agreeance. I looked around with fresh eyes at the lot, truly moved. I honestly felt like I might cry. I took a deep breath, and continued my ministrations.

"You're still a bunch of crybabies." I deflected, wiping away a traitorous tear, quickly with my sleeve as I re-dipped my cloth into the alcohol. I saw from the corner of my eye, and appreciative smile from Angus, which disappeared in seconds.

As we packed up the horses that morning, I noticed that the men were telling stories again, this time in English.

"So there I am, in bed. Harelip Chrissy on my left, and Sweaty Netty on my right..."

I smiled in spite of myself, listening to Rupert explain his imaginary exploits, while I tended my horse.

"...And the one, gets jealous of the other right? And they start arguing over who I'm going ta swive first. Can ye believe it?" he asked.

"I believe your left hand gets jealous of your right, but that's about all I believe." I said loudly, turning to smile at him coyly. I saw Jaimie poke his head nervously around his horse to look at me. The other six men in my vision paused, shocked. I supposed it wasn't exactly normal, a high born English lady, making crude jokes. Rupert stared at me for about three seconds before he burst into laughter. The cue relieved the others, and everyone began laughing.

"I've never heard a woman make a joke beforrre!" He laughed for a solid two minutes after that. I believe I'd earned some brownie points back.

The next section of our ride, despite the good note we had set out on, was dark, and heartwrenching - for me anyway. We were riding over Culloden Moore.

 _The Reverend had driven me out here, showing me the different Clans, and their headstones. There were dozens of them, and they each marked mass graves._

 _"The whole battle took less than an hour. It was an absolute slaughter. The proud Highland clans, with naught but broadswords, up against cannons and musket fire. It completely annihilated the army. The Jacobites lost something along the lines of 2,000 men. The interesting thing is that in the years following Culloden, the estates of the highlanders were plundered, sold, taken. Even the wearing of tartan, the Gaelic language were banned. The entire Highlander way of life, Clan lands, pride, all of it, became extinct. And it all started here." The Reverend had said._

I spent the whole ride imagining the death and destruction. I'd seen war, in a different country, different weapons, but it always ended the same way, bloody corpses, crying women and children. Broken people. The night we slept on Culloden, I had horrific nightmares. Men being killed, my highlanders, brave to the last, with cannonballs blasting holes through them, as swarms of Redcoats ran by. I was shaken awake by an extremely concerned looking Jamie. He held me in both arms, ready to pick me up if I was ill.

"Are you alright lass? Ye're pale as anything, and quaking in yer sleep."

"You would be too." I said, realising that my eyes were pouring out tears of sadness, of loss. I grabbed onto Jamie, hugging him with all the might I could muster. "So many dead, Jamie. So quickly."

"It was just a dream Sassenach." He comforted, hugging me back, tightly. He pulled me away as I shook my head.

"No." I said, still shaking. "Here..." I stopped, breathing slowly until I composed myself. "I can't sleep here." I said, and stood. "I didn't mean to disturb you Jamie. Go back to sleep."

He watched me for a few moments, wrapping myself up in my shawl and walking away. I could hardly breathe. My brain was buzzing with worry, regret, guilt. I should be warning them, and yet, I couldn't. Jamie might listen. The others... How many would die? "Over 2,000." I whispered in answer to myself. I tried to hum a tune to calm myself down, walking over to the horses. I spent the rest of the night, singing softly to myself. 'The Parting Glass' rang through my head, relentlessly. A homage to the dead I could remember, still living here today. 'Amazing Grace' took up a spot, and then 'Let it Be'. I spent the night singing to the horses quietly. I hadn't noticed that the men were waking in the morning, as I was staring out at the sunrise, singing 'Let Her Go', until a soft hand came to rest upon my shoulder. I jumped a little out of my skin. It was Rupert.

"A prettier serenade we couldna woken up to, but we must be off Mistress."

"Sorry, yes, of course." My brain was hazy that day, and I stayed quiet and close to the men. Our next stop had us in a forest, close to a freshwater river. I needed something to do. I was far too idle on these journeys.

"I"m going to go wash in the river." I told the men, expecting one of them to follow, as tradition upheld.

"Let her be." Dougal said, surprising me and the others. I walked, alone, over the small ridge, and down to the river bed. I crouched, rinsing my hair, my face, my arms, and what I could of my neck, rubbing the sprigs of flowers into my skin, for the scent. I sat down on a mossy rock, looking out over the beautiful scene before me. My brain filled the river with blood and I shuddered, closing my eyes tightly.

"Who are you?" A voice rang from above. I looked up, shocked, to find Dougal, in all his power and glory, standing like he was approaching the war chief of a neighbouring tribe. As he talked he walked down to me, until he was within arms reach. "An English Lady of Oxfordshire, that's what you'd have us believe. And yet, you have very clear political opinions, and no background or information that can be confirmed. Ye seem to have given up hope of ever finding yer travelling companions, and yet claim that they were the only family ye had. Ye've seen much on the road here. And any of it, handed to the English, would have all of us hanged."

"The fact that _you_ still don't believe me is hardly _my_ fault Dougal." I rebutted, exasperated, turning back to the river. His arm grabbed me, turning me to look at him again.

"I'm not done -"

"Madam!" A clear voice interrupted. Dougal and I both looked up the river in shock. There, along with a dozen fully armed Redcoats was the kindly Englishman from before, suited and booted, and this time, sure he would get an answer. "Pleasure to see you again." He dismounted, and began walking towards us.

"And once again I ask you, is everything alright Madam?" Smooth as silk. Anna would have flushed with sexual tension. "Lieutenant Jeremy Foster, at your service."

Dougal walked up to meet Lieutenant Jeremy Foster, who only blinked calmly. "And you are?"

"Dougal MacKenzie, War Chief and brother to Colum Mackenzie, Laird of the lands upon which you stand. I can assure you that this is none of your concern."

"And I can assure you, Mister MacKenzie, that if you are holding this lady against her will, you will be dealt with."

As infuriating and hostile as the clan was, they were the devil I knew, and Jamie and Murtagh were the only two people who knew anything about me. I knew instantly that I had indeed chosen a place to settle, and that place - difficult as it could be - was with the Scottish Highlanders.

"I appreciate your concern Lieutenant. But I promise you, I am a guest of the Clan MacKenzie." I reassured him, with a smile. He didn't believe me.

"As you wish, but my men and I would appreciate you coming back to meet our Commander. We're most curious to know how a lady such as yourself ended up a guest of the Clan MacKenzie." My heart rate increased. The Scots, didn't believe me, the English certainly wouldn't.

"Where the lady goes, I go." Dougal said. His insistence made me feel better, though part of me longed for Jamie to appear as well.

We rode with the Englishmen to a Scottish village nearby. Although it was Scottish, and on Clan land, the Redcoats were everywhere. I took pity on Dougal in that moment. This was enemy territory to him. He was now the Outlander. Lieutenant Foster walked Dougal and I into the tavern, which looked like a Canada Day celebration with all the red and white completely obscuring my vision. We walked up into a room, where a fine dinner had been lain upon a long table.

"Sir, may I present Mistress Claire Beauchamp of Oxfordshire, and -"

"My word! Never in all my years, could I have guessed that we would have been graced with the honor of such a lovely English Rose in this filthy town." The Commander strode over to me, grabbing my hand to kiss it. I smiled, courteously. I felt like a sheep, wearing a wolf costume in the middle of a den. My own people they may be, but what hope in heaven did I have of them letting me continue my journey with the Clan, without managing to alienate the men I rode with? If I stayed here, chatting courteously, and then returned to our journey, _any_ bad luck with the English would be seen as my fault. The only way I could see out of this involved actually going with an English escort somewhere.

The Commander insisted I sat, and offered me wine and drink before even turning to the Lieutenant to continue listening to his introduction. Whether that was a reflection of the high esteem he held for the proper treatment of a lady, or of an insult to a Scot, I wasn't sure.

"And this is Dougal MacKenzie, Warchief, and brother to Colum Mackenzie, Laird of this land." Foster said. "You have the honour of meeting Brigadier General Lord Thomas, Commander of the Northern British Army." His introduction was respectful and courteous... unlike the response of the Commander.

"Well." he said looking down his nose at Dougal, quite a feat, as Dougal stood taller than him. "You certainly look the part, eh men?" A chorus of bullying laughter rattled around the room from the English officers. My head was beginning to hurt with the rush of adrenaline. I tried to look relaxed and took a sip of the wine offered to me. "And how am I to address you, Sir?"

"Ye can call me MacKenzie, if it pleases ye, or if we're gang formal Chief MacKenzie, which in matters of war and bicker on these lands, leaves us as equals ye ken."

Brigadier General Lord Thomas looked blankly at Dougal. "I'm sure he was speaking something, but I didn't understand a word of it!" The men around the table laughed.

"I believe, Sir, he said you can call him Chief MacKenzie." Foster piped up, helpfully.

"Someone aught to teach these people how to speak the King's English." Lord Thomas laughed.

"May I remind you, Lord Thomas, that there are parts of England - Newcastle comes to mind - with equally as offensive accents in the English tongue?" I said, trying to be diplomatic. He clapped his hands together, approvingly.

"Quite right, my dear woman. The world would make a lot more sense if we all spoke like Londoners, eh?" He said, beginning to sit down.

"If ye wanted to hear Londoners speak, ye should have stayed in London." Dougal said. I closed my eyes. He just couldn't leave well enough alone could he?

"I would be more than happy to oblige, _Sir_ ," he sneered at the deliverance of the word. "If you behaved like the loyal British subjects you are supposed to be."

The two of them stared each other down.

"You know, other than the people, this land is quite beautiful. If I stayed here long enough, I could become a Laird. What do you think, men, Laird Thomas?" He laughed. The men cheered appraising.

"Only then I'd have to wear one of those woolen skirts." He continued.

"It's called a kilt -" the man to his right spoke up.

"I am aware, Lieutenant." Lord Thomas continued without looking away from Dougal. "I'm told it's a great offense to ask a Scotsman what exactly they wear under their skirt..." He lifted his wine glass, in a mock toast. "So tell me, Chief, from one Laird to another -"

"Are ye purposefully trying to embarrass the lass here, or are ye just a wee lout?" Dougal said.

"Good Lord man! Do you know to whom you speak?" One of the officers outraged. Foster put his hand on his sword hilt.

"You pull out that needle and we'll see who pricks who." Dougal warned.

"That. Is. Enough." I said, looking around at all of the men. "Dougal, Lieutenant, enough. You're behaving like children." Neither of the men moved. "I said stand down." My voice was one of practice, the doctor in training taking no shit from anyone. Both men backed off.

"Quite so." Lord Thomas said, smiling in amazement. "The lady's sense of propriety puts us all to shame. Truly - Madam - if I were brave enough I'd commission you a Colonel to command a regiment. You do know how to order men about."

"That she does." Dougal responded. I smiled, this time in a mix of pride and embarrassment.

"My apologies for overstepping, Lord Thomas. But I'd rather not have a fight disrupt our meal." I said, bringing him to the task at hand. That seemed to snap everyone back into their purpose here. The men began setting up, focusing on the display of food in front of them.

"I'd offer you a seat, but as you can see. No room." Thomas said, unapologetic and mocking to Dougal. I turned around to look at him.

" _Stay_." I tried to beg him with my eyes. Dougal, however, chose to leave.

"Keep yer scraps. They're still serving good Scottish ale in the tavern downstairs." he looked down at me. "I'll be right outside." he reassured. Any sense of comfort I had achieved left with him.

"Now please, Madam, do tell us how you ended up in the company of the War Chief?" Lord Thomas asked, politeness itself, as he offered food.

"Well my background is a little unusual, so I aught to start there to catch you up a bit." I smiled. I told them of my travels with my uncle, and then with my companions Joe and Anna, and our trip across Scotland. I told them of how, on our journey to Inverness, we were set upon by highwaymen. I was separated from my friends, and nearly raped, before running into the clansmen. I talked about how they'd taken me in, after the disappearance of my travelling party, treated me like royalty, and how I'd been working as a healer in the Castle.

"They brought me along on this venture because they hoped I could help some of the people we met." I smiled. "Unfortunately, tempers are quite short on the road, so Dougal and I have butted heads as frequently as rutting goats." I shook my head, and waved my hand over to Lieutenant Foster. "It was during one of those altercations that I first met the good Lieutenant here. He interceded on my behalf, to cool some hot heads down."

"I cannot believe that a lady of such grace could have survived all the ordeals that you've had to endure. You are, by the sounds of it, exactly the kind of Colonel I need." Lord Thomas jested, marveling.

"All I want to do for now, is return with the clansmen to their long journey back to Leoch."

"But what about your companions?" Thomas objected. "I'm sure they would have left some word of their whereabouts and future endeavors if they had made it to Inverness."

"I have hoped so, but have not yet had the chance to travel there. My companions are slowly heading in that direction, and I had hoped to make a detour eventually." I said, trying to infer that I was fine.

"That'll not do at all! Lieutenant, perhaps you would do the honor of escorting the Lady to Inverness and, if required, back to the Clan's travelling party?" Thomas asked Foster immediately.

"I would be forever grateful!" I smiled eagerly, though wishing that the conversation had taken a different turn.

"It would be my pleasure." Foster agreed, smiling. I smiled back, genuinely, truly honoured that the men would go to such lengths for me, however inconvenient and worrying they actually were for my predicament.

"I would have thought you'd had enough of Scotland-"

Suddenly, with a bang that made me jump, the door swung open, and in marched a soldier. It was a face I had seen both only once, and a thousand times. Frank stood in a dirty red coat, with long, tied back hair. I sat, shocked, and somehow, more scared than I had already been.

"My Lord, are you aware that-"

"Captain Randall, are we under attack?" Thomas asked, derisively. Shielding his wine like a baby.

"We are not."

"Then good heavens dust yourself off. You brought a half league of dirt in with you." Thomas sneered. I held my breath, watching Jonathan Randall's face set itself. He was unused to taking orders.

"Of course. We can't risk the claret." He said, turning around to leave. As his gaze swept across the table my heart stopped in my chest. Randall froze when he caught sight of me, staring. His face revealing an incredulously shocked look. I swallowed as I met his gaze, unsure.

"Am I mistaken, or have you two met?" Lord Thomas asked. Randall snapped himself out of it.

"Not at all, I was merely struck with the good lady's beauty for a moment." He lied, stepping out into the hall to dust off his things. I hid my face behind my hand, pretending to be embarassed. This was the man who twice flogged and later chased Jamie ruthlessly, up the hill to Craigh na Dun. This is the man I'd scared off my first few moments in this time period. I sat back, plucking idly at a grape. He had recognised me - that was without question. But superstitious as the local Scots may be, an English officer was less likely to believe I was a faerie, and more likely a spy. Randall re-entered the room.

"Are you aware, that the War Chief of Clan MacKenzie is sitting idly downstairs, quaffing ale?"

"This is not news to me, Captain. It was the War Chief himself that brought the lovely Mistress Beauchamp of Oxfordshire to us today."

That got Randall's interest. "And how exactly did a Lady such as yourself end up in the personal escort of a Clan's War Chief?"

"That's a fascinating and complicated tale, which, unfortunately, you've missed." Lord Thomas suddenly got an idea. It was actually evident as his face changed. "Oh I know! You can escort Mistress Beauchamp to Inverness, and she can regale you with the story on the way. It'll give you two something marvelous to talk about!"

"My lord!" a hurried voice of a newcomer appeared at the door. "Three men have been attacked, just outside of town."

"Are the Scots truly that depraved to attack such a heavily fortified position?" Lord Thomas asked incredulously. "Any casualties?"

"One dead, two wounded."

The men around me disassembled, while my brain panicked. It hadn't been my men had it? They wouldn't have killed someone just to create a ruse or something, would they? In the flurry of redcoat activity, I realised that one man was not moving.

"If I might, Lord Thomas. I'd like to acquaint myself with Mistress Beauchamp, and then head out. This village is far too dangerous for someone such as her." Randall said. Thomas barely stopped to think about it.

"Yes, of course."

And he too, was gone.


	17. Chapter 17

"Off to chase rebels." Randall said, looking at the closed door behind him. "Not that he'll find any. I've seen that man on a horse." Randall opened the door, showing a single guard outside.

"Take my things back to my room would you? They're in the courtyard on my horse." He addressed.

"Yes sir." Said the younger officer, and he disappeared. Randall closed the door again, sliding the lock in place. I swallowed hard, still unmoved from my chair.

"So you're to take me to Inverness then?" I asked, amicably, trying to alleviate my fears. Jonathan Randall ignored my question, coming to sit down beside me. He began to undo his jacket, rifling through a pocket. I genuinely had no idea what was to come.

"Almost two months ago," He began. "I was chasing a cattle-raiding party, through an English patrolled area. They were fast, but I was able to separate a few of the criminals, driving them through the forest, and up, to a local standing stone circle. They attempted to hide amongst the stones there, but I found them regardless."

"Congratulations." I said, waiting for the rest of his story, trying to look interested and confused, rather than guilty.

"Imagine my surprise when running out of the stones, instead of a filthy clansmen, I was greeted by an unholy spirit, with devil's eyes, and a scream that terrified my military trained horse so badly, that he bucked and fled, dragging me for a good two miles before he slowed enough to mount again."

"I find that a very unlikely tale." I replied meekly.

"As did I, madam. I was convinced that I could not have seen what I did." He pulled out a piece of paper from his coat pocket, and unfolded it. It was a sketch. A beautifully detailed sketch... of me. It was my face, my dress, even the uniquely patterned silver bangles on my arms - one of which I realised too late - I was wearing today. Randall caught my gaze at my arm.

"Ah yes. It took me a while to remember the jewelry correctly." Randall smiled, looking like a snake that had caught a mouse. I remained silent. The sketch was condemning. It was almost as detailed as a photograph. He had worked on it clearly regularly over the several weeks since our brief encounter. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

"Only that if you're not going to take me to Inverness, then we might wrap this up soon? I've chores to attend to back at camp." I replied politely. "This story..."

"Story?" Randall smiled, tucking his sketch away again. "I think not madam." He leaned over the table, plucking a meat carving knife from the remnants of a plate.

"What is your name?"

"Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp." I responded. He smirked.

"And where do you come from?"

"I was born in Oxfordshire. I travelled around with my -" He slammed his fist on the table, halting my answer and my heart raced.

"What are you?" He asked.

"I don't understand." I answered, my voice beginning to creep with uncertainty. "Please, reveal your intentions here, or let me go." Randall smiled.

"I look forward to the opportunity to share my intentions with you, madam. But first, perhaps some honesty."

"My honesty will match your own." I replied, carefully.

"Let us begin then, with you telling me who you are, and how you came to be in Scotland."

"My name is Claire, and I traveled here with two of my closest friends." I replied. His eyebrows lifted slightly.

"Now that I believe. Where were you born?"

"In Oxfordshire."

"I find that a little harder, as there aren't any Beauchamps in Oxfordshire." He replied casually.

"And how would you know, hailing from Sussex yourself?" I asked, defensively. His eyes narrowed at my statement.

"And how would you know that?" His voice was lower, suspicious. Shit. A random trivia piece picked up from the research done with the Reverend. My knowledge was not helping my cause.

"Your accent." I lied. "It's clearly Sussex."

"Neither my parents, nor my tutors would be pleased to hear that my voice so clearly reveals my birthplace, them having gone to great lengths to remedy it."

I remained silent again. Where was Dougal? Was he fighting the men? Held up with the Redcoats? Shouldn't he have come looking for me by now?

"Madam, you do not help your case by refusing to answer."

"I wasn't aware I had a case to help. I've made no claims on you or the garrison stationed here, except to be left to return to my traveling companions, or to be escorted to Inverness. My only desire is to be left alone to continue my journey in peace, and I don't see why that's such an issue."

"Don't you?" He sat up a little straighter. "The man who escorted you here today was the leader of the little gang of cattle thieves, and also one of the most powerful political figures in this backwards country. And you, appear to miraculously save the men, driving me away, escaping my soldiers, and then what? Then you've been travelling around with them, as though a clan member? Your travelling companions alone, and your desperate desire to return to them paint you as an enemy of the King. Your appearance, and effects on myself and my horse paint you as some kind of shape shifting spirit, or witch."

"Are those my only two choices?"

"If there is another, madam, I advise you not to keep it to yourself."

"Your belief in my unnatural origins has me more than a little concerned. I thought the King's army was filled with logical and reasonable commanders, not superstitious folk believing in magic." I tried to deflect.

"I know that Dougal MacKenzie is raising funds for the Jacobite cause. I merely lack the necessary proof to take him into custody." His change in direction was confusing, and threw me off guard.

"I - I don't know what you're-"

"Do not stand there and pretend that you have not noticed the criminal actions of the men you've lived with for the past several weeks." Randall's voice lifted in a suppressed anger.

"Dougal would be witless to discuss such things in front of an English woman."

"Unless that woman was a spy, sympathetic to the cause." He leaned it, studying me. My palms were sweating with fear, and I prayed that my face only showed confused determination.

"I am not a spy, nor a witch, or faerie."

"Then prove it."

"I can't."

"You haven't seen anything or heard anything of the Jacobite rebellion?"

"I haven't. Christ, I don't have any Gaelic, I wouldn't know the difference between politics and pottery." I pleaded with him.

"You haven't seen any evidence of treason?"

"How many times must I say it?" I asked. Randall stood up, walking to the window.

"Madam, I would not believe you if you told me that grass grew green."

"Am I under arrest for something, or can I please move forward to Inverness?" I was trying to ignore the Scottish option.

"You will not leave this room until I am satisfied of your innocence, and I have the whole story regarding your presence and abrupt appearance on the standing stone hill." Randall came to stand, menacingly behind me, and I stopped breathing. "I will accelerate my methods if you do not start talking."

"I've heard about your _methods_ Captain." I spat, angry on Jamie's behalf. "Will you lay my back open to the bone as well? A hundred upon a hundred lashes, like the poor boy from the highlands they speak of at Leoch?"

Randall sat quickly in the chair beside me. His eyes alight with a new fever. "A poor highlander boy? Did Dougal MacKenzie tell you that? A wanted thief and murderer that poor boy was. MacKenzie was there, you know, at William. The first hundred lashes, administered by the corporal, and the thief didn't break." Randall leant forward, he was so close he could have easily kissed - or headbutted- me.

"One hundred lashes and not a single sound broke the boy's lips. It set a very bad example, you see, and I couldn't allow his continued behaviour to go unpunished. So yes, a hundred more, and this time, it was I wielding the instrument. I writing the symphony."

His eyes were glazed as he described the scene, in the same level of clarity as the sketch he had drawn for me. Down to the tiniest of details.

"Every stroke of that instrument made my legs shake and my heart flutter. I had intended to pace myself. A hundred lashes are not easy to deliver. But he refused to cry out. I was hurting him, I could feel it. Sheer power, shuddering from his back, through the whip and into my own chest. But he did not break. He did not beg for mercy, he would not break. He would not beg for mercy."

He described the quiet, the blood, the flesh, I was immersed in a memory not my own, staring into haunted looking familiar eyes. I watched as he whipped and slashed at Jamie, acid breaking in my throat.

"The crowd had to look away. They could only see the horror of it. They were blinded to the beauty, to the connection, between that boy, and myself. Nothing else in the world mattered in that moment, just my arm, and his flesh. Madam, you asked how I could believe in magic? That boy and I..." He took a deep shuddering breath. "We were creating a masterpiece together. It was the most magical thing I'd ever experienced."

I felt sick. My brain was scarred with an image I had never seen, and yet seen now, so clearly, and through the depraved eyes of a sadist.

"The truth carries a weight that no lie can counterfeit." Randall said, simply. "When I speak of your magic, a greater weight rests in your eyes, than when I speak of your allegiance to the crown. It is that weight that makes me believe more about your unnatural nature, than your political one. When I was stationed to Scotland I came to fulfill my allegiance to the crown, to serve my king and protect my country. Instead, I've been immersed in a squalid, violent, and superstitious people, with growing evidence that I am wrong in my position, while they correct in theirs. A darkness has grown within me. A hatred for the world itself. If my nature and pain can be explained by something supernatural, why would I not embrace that? I know that you are not what you appear to be. Perhaps you have more answers for me than you know."

I took a steadying breath. "You are not the first soldier to be changed by combat. Nor will you be the last. Wars will continue to shape the foundation of both history and the souls of the people fighting in them for centuries to come."

"And how could you possibly be so certain of that?" Randall asked, his eyes narrowing again. "The weight behind those words is astonishing."

I was starting to wonder - if in my new time-travelling magic-wielding world of superstitions and beliefs - if Randall himself may possess some kind of ability, a knack for truth that went further than intuition.

"It's the truth of humanity. People will always fight wars. They always believe their motives are purer, or more just, than the other side."

"And where do you stand on the war here, today?" He asked.

"It's not my war." I replied, without thinking. Randall's eyes flashed, curiously.

"Perhaps we will have much to talk about, on the road to Inverness." he said. My heart leapt with hope. I was getting out of here, out of this room, towards the safety of my Scotsmen, if not, then at least back to Craigh na Dun. Randall stood, walking over to the door, to unlatch it. Outside there was an officer again.

"Would you mind coming in here a moment?" Randall asked the man, heading towards his coat. I stood, walking around the table towards the door. Randall approached me, hand outstretched, and I turned to take it. In that moment I didn't quite comprehend what was happening, until I was on the floor, gasping for air. He had pulled me forward with his left hand, while his right curled into a fist, and blasted me in the diaphragm. I couldn't breathe. The pressure on my lungs was so extreme. I tried to crawl away, only to have my hand stepped on abruptly, crushingly, by a large black boot, and my head wrenched back with a hair pull. He whispered in my ear.

"Whatever darkness dwells in this land, dwells in me too. I thrive here. And I will find out the secrets you keep, one way or another." Randall threw me to the ground, so that I was curled up sideways.

"Have you ever kicked a woman, Corporal?" he asked the other man.

"N-No sir."

"Please do. It's most refreshing."

I still hadn't been able to draw breath, and I could see a red-black bruise forming on my smallest knuckles. I closed my hand, absurdly trying to determine in that most inopportune moment if my bones where broken. They weren't. Oh good.

"I said kick her."

A small kick against my body jolted a shock through me that released my diaphragm. I breathed in, hard, lungs aching, eyes watering.

"Again. Harder." Another kick. "Harder." The Captain commanded. The next kick was not only hard, but well aimed. Instead of my soft tissues, it landed straight on my ribs, and I finally squeaked the tiniest of cries out.

"Again!" Randall shouted in earnest, and the door to the room swung open. "I don't remember requesting your presence." Randall said calmly. Dougal crouched down over me, and I'd never been happier to see him.

"Up you get lassie. Come on." He began to lift me. Two more soldiers ran into the room. My head was spinning, and I couldn't straighten all the way up. I held onto Dougal's arm like it was a monkey bar, with a vise like supporting grip. He didn't say a word about it.

"I dinnae come here to fight. Now leave, before I lose ma temper."

"You have no right to that woman. Not while she's being questioned by a British officer." Randall explained, calmly and in a bored fashion, as though discussing a hydro bill.

"She is a guest of the Clan MacKenzie, and therefore under our protection."

"She is an English citizen first."

"She was brought here on fears that we were holding her against her will. As she has undoubtedly explained, that is not the case, and therefore she will be returned to me for my protection."

"Further questions have arisen -" Randall attempted.

"You won't be asking them on MacKenzie land. Not unless you wish to declare war this day." Dougal said, and without waiting for answer, began to walk me through the door. I still couldn't stand up the whole way. I was crouched over like a hunchback.

"Be sure to deliver her to Fort William by sundown tomorrow, for further questioning." Randall called after us. "If she is not present at the appointed time, you will be accused of harbouring a fugitive of the English law, and will be hunted down and punished." Dougal wrapped me tightly in his arm, ignoring Randall.

"Can ye walk lass?"

"Get me out of here, please." I begged. "I'll fucking dance if I have to."

"Perhaps next time," he quipped. He put me on his horse, tying mine to the reins of his, and joined me. I supposed he was worried I might fall off the horse. It was certainly a possibility. My body reeling, I wasn't ready for a hard ride in the Scottish highlands, and in the safety of Dougal's arms, I did lose consciousness for a few moments. I was awoken by the horses slowing, and Dougal lifting me down from the horse.

"Come on, you need water." He showed me down a winding ridge towards a stream that smelled strongly of sulphur. I didn't care. It was cold, and it was water. I drank greedily, and splashed water on my face and neck, cooling my sore hand in the stream.

"Are ye a spy for the English or the French?" Dougal asked. My patience broke.

"How many times must I answer that fucking question today?" I responded angrily. Dougal didn't look fazed.

"This is the last time I will ever ask it of ye. What ye say here is naught but truth."

"I am not a spy!" I yelled. "I'm a healer. I'm Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp. That's all. It's all I've ever been."

Dougal took a long look at me. "Alright then. Are ye hurt serious?"

"That's it? You suddenly believe me?"

"St. Ninian's spring. The liar's water, smelling of hell itself. If ye drink, and speak untrue it'll burn yer gizzard out." Dougal pointed to my throat. "Are ye hurt serious?"

I took a few deep breaths before answering, to check that I could, and to rid myself of the harsh words I had concocted. If this was all it took for Dougal to finally trust me, then so be it. "No. I don't think so. Soft tissue damage for most of it. I might have to wrap my hand for a while." I examined the knuckles. Not broken, but perhaps a slight fracture. "Or perhaps I won't. I'll undoubtedly have more by an hour after sundown tomorrow." My stomach clenched, in anticipation of further pain.

"Well... I had an idea about that actually." Dougal admitted. I looked up at him, confused. "First we talk to Ned."


	18. Chapter 18

I had climbed awkwardly back out of the ridge, and onto my horse, with Dougal silent and thinking beside me during the journey. He led the way and I rode after him, wincing and finding it hard to breathe as I did. I undid the laces a little on parts of my dress, to alleviate some of the pressure on my damaged stomach soft tissues, and on the rib that had been so unfairly punished. The lack of tight support meant my breasts bounced painfully in the ride, but it was a worth it trade off for the relief of the other injuries. How the hell was he going to figure out how to circumvent Randall's orders? I was to be delivered to Fort William by sundown tomorrow, or Randall's forces would hunt, persecute, and probably kill Dougal and my traveling companions for harboring a fugitive. It made much more sense to simply deliver me back into his hands, but I seemed to have finally earned Dougal's trust. Perhaps not wholly, but he trusted my healing capabilities, and now my allegiances. When we got back to camp, the men were not settled, as I had expected. There was no fire, and everybody was ready to move.

"Jamie, it's Dougal and Claire." One of the men assured a bush. It shook violently and a flaming red mop appeared with a face beneath it that was relieved at first, but it turned to worry instantly. I suppose I must have looked pale.

"There ye are!" Rupert cried. "Christ man, we've been wagerin' on how ye'd died!"

"Get movin' lads. We ride to the inn now." Dougal addressed. "Ned, I need ye for a moment."

The men were ready to go in seconds, Jamie pulling his horse close to mine.

"What's goin' on?" Willie asked me. Dougal raised his voice in an explanation.

"Well, Mistress Beauchamp here has a small problem we'll be assistin' with. That is, unless ye'd all rather she return to the clutches o' Black Jack Randall fer a second beatin'?" Dougal said casually, looking around as though he were expecting someone to complain. "Aye, thought not. Now shush. Ned..." He beckoned over to the lawyer, and they rode closely, talking.

Jamie, who had stiffened so sharply it seemed a ram-rod had been inserted abruptly into his back, looked me over again. His eyebrows near met in the middle when he saw my state of undress.

"Did he...? I mean, what...?" He began twice.

"Nothing too serious." I replied, showing him my bruised hand. "I need to wrap this, and next time I'm alone I'm checking for bruising around my rib, but other than that I'm fine." My assurances didn't seem to help.

"How in God's name did ye end up wi' Randall?"

I began to explain in some detail what had transpired in that room. I did, however, leave out Randall's honesty about Jamie. I didn't feel like it was necessary for Jamie to live with the haunting musical and magical analogies linked into something so disgusting. I also tried to skip over my physical punishment, I didn't need any of the men re-living that.

By the time we all arrived at the village, unpacked, and settled into the inn, it was almost time for supper. It had felt simultaneously like the slowest and longest day of our journey so far. Dougal told Murtagh to take me to the room they'd booked for me as soon as we had entered the inn, while he and Ned finished concocting their plan. Murtagh watched me warily as I soaked and wrapped my hand in cold water. It was hard to hold things tightly, but I felt it would be fine within a few days. I poked around at my rib, and determined that I wasn't particularly injured there either, thankfully. Although sore, it would only bruise colourfully at worst. I didn't re-lace my dress though, and sat, close to a fire - my usual post - and tried to relax. Murtagh stood guard, watchfully, and quietly, at the window. Within two minutes of my sitting down, Dougal burst into the room.

"So what's this idea of yours?" I asked, standing up.

"Ye may want to sit down." He said. I narrowed my eyes at him. Whatever it was, I was hardly going to swoon over it.

"Verra well, then." He sat down, smiling slightly, but his eyes were dark with seriousness, purpose, and planning. He started off quietly, leaning toward me to explain. "Randall's the right to take ye for questioning because you're a subject of the English crown."

"With you so far." I said.

"Well, then, we must change that." I stared at him, uncomprehending.

"And you lost me." I said, slightly dazed. "What do you mean 'change that'? You're a subject of the crown as well, aren't you? How would you change such a thing?"

"Scots law and English law are verra similar," he said, frowning, "but no the same. And an English officer canna compel the person of a Scot, unless he's firm evidence of a crime committed, or grounds for serious suspicions."

"He has - " suspicions, I began to say, but Dougal continued over me.

"Even with suspicion, he could no remove a Scottish subject from clan lands without the permission of the laird concerned."

"Ned Gowan, has informed me what I thought myself; the only way I can legally refuse to give ye to Randall is to change ye from an Englishwoman into a Scot."

"Into a Scot?" I said, my dazed feeling quickly being replaced by a horrible suspicion.

"Aye," he said, nodding at my expression. "Ye must marry a Scot.

Murtagh sneezed, or coughed, or something. A sharp explosion of air erupted from his chest, and he turned to glare coldly at Dougal. He began muttering something in Gaelic, and Dougal responded in the same tongue. I sat down again. Dougal had been right about the sitting thing. Marry. Marry a Scot. Dougal wanted me to marry, what, him?

"Who exactly am I supposed to marry by sundown tomorrow?" I asked. Dougal looked back at me, and said, as if I'd missed something extremely obvious.

"Young Jamie."

"What? I can't!" I said. He's so much younger than I. I've only known him for a short while. He won't want to marry me. All logical arguments that I could have used. Instead my confused and weary brain spluttered out. "He's so tall."

Dougal and Murtagh looked at me with concern.

"Are ye alright lass?" Murtagh asked.

"Yeah, no. I'm gonna lie down." I said, sliding from my seat, into a heap on the floor. The distraction of looking up at the rafters, and the increased blood flow to my brain knocked the surprise out of me, and the sense back in.

"I cannot marry Jamie." I repeated, my wits back. "He's known me for less than two months."

"Not by much, and Jamie's a goodly lad," Dougal argued. "He's not much in the way of property just now, true, but he's a kind-hearted lad. He'd not be cruel to ye. And he's a bonny fighter, with verra good reason to hate Randall. Nay, marry him, and he'll fight to his last breath to protect ye."

"But…but I can't marry anyone!" I burst out. Dougal's eyes were suddenly sharp. "Why not, lass? Do ye have a husband living still?"

"No. It's just…it's ridiculous! This isn't some episode of 90 Day Fiance for gods sake. I'm not marrying a Scot for a green card!" Dougal had relaxed when I said "No.", and seemed to ignore the rest of the insanity that spewed from my mouth.

"Ye want to go to Randall?"

"No."

"There isn't another way, without startin' a war, lass." Dougal said, kindly. I sat up, stiffly, searching his eyes. He really meant it. If I didn't go, I put almost the entire Clan MacKenzie at risk.

"Fuck." I murmured. The men waited patiently. "Okay." I barely breathed. Dougal stood up, thumping Murtagh on the shoulder.

"Best get to tellin' Jamie, eh?" he murmured, as though to himself. "But you and Ned can manage that."

The men disappeared. The whole idea was both outrageous and reasonable, unthinkable, and clever. Anna would have fallen over herself in joy at the prospect of me marrying such a tall, strapping Highlander. It seemed like a scene from a movie. I managed to wrench myself up to standing, and then decided to sit on the bed and think again. If he refused point-blank to hand me over to Randall, with no excuse, the Captain would easily try to take me by force. And whether he believed me or not, Dougal might understandably not want to engage in a skirmish with a lot of English dragoons for my sake. And, viewed in cold blood, the idea had some merit from my side as well. If I were married to a Scot, I would presumably no longer be watched and guarded, and maybe gain some acceptance into the land I'd chosen as my new home. I'd have a place, a permanent place. More permanent than anything Joe, Anna, Frank, or Uncle Lamb had ever managed to provide. I could try to run back to Craig na Dun, but how far would I get, on a stolen horse, in unfamiliar territory, and alone? I'd end up straight back in the hands of Randall.

I got up and threw open the shutters, sticking my head out into the cooling breeze. There was a peremptory rap on the door behind me. Dougal entered as I pulled my head in. He bore a sheaf of stiff paper like a salver and was followed by Rupert, Murtagh and the immaculate Ned Gowan, bringing up the rear like royal equerries.

"Make yourselves at home," I said in mock courtesy, as they had all done exactly that. Ignoring me as usual, Dougal removed a chamber pot from its resting place on the table and fanned the sheets of paper out ceremoniously on the rough oak surface.

"I've a few questions my dear, for clarification on the legality." Ned began. He asked about property and titles.

"Nope."

He asked about living relatives and husbands.

"Nope."

He asked about fortunes or inheritances.

"Nope."

"It's amazing ye've made it through the world without all that lass. Still, nothing to bind, everywhere to go, am I right?" Rupert smiled away cheerily.

"Indeed." I managed.

"All done," Ned said, with the pride of one who has shepherded a difficult project to a successful conclusion. "Not really difficult, ye ken," Ned said modestly. "It's but a simple contract." He riffled the pages with a proprietary forefinger, shuffling them back into a pile and tapping the edges neatly together. "That's that, then. You'll only need to sign here at the foot, and Dougal and Rupert to witness." The lawyer set down the inkpot he had brought in, and whipping a clean quill from his pocket, presented it ceremoniously to me.

"And just what is this?" I asked. This was in the nature of a rhetorical question, for the top page of the bundle said CONTRACT OF MARRIAGE in a clear calligraphic hand, the letters two inches high and starkly black across the page. Dougal suppressed a sigh of impatience at my recalcitrance.

"Ye ken quite weel what it is," he said shortly. "And unless you've had another bright thought for keeping yourself out of Randall's hands, you'll sign it and have done with it. Time's short." Bright thoughts were in particularly short supply at the moment, despite the hour I had spent hammering away at the problem.

"Can I talk to Jamie first?" I asked. Dougal rolled his eyes loudly - quite a feat, but Murtagh spoke up first.

"He's out there, lass." Indicating his head towards the window. I peeked, and saw Jamie, sitting under a tree, alone, deep in thought. I stood up and Dougal made to complain.

"Gimme two bloody minutes to talk to the man I'll be forcing this on, Dougal. I'll be right back."

I walked downstairs, numb to the sights and sounds around me. At the end of this short voyage was a man I'd known for just shy of two months, quite a bit younger than me, and I was about to entrap him into a life of marriage, to what... save myself some physical discomfort? My brain reminded me of the methods and means, not to mention the proclivity for sadistic violence. It would be much more than some physical discomfort. Jamie turned his head to look at me. He neither smiled nor frowned.

"Did you know that Dougal wants us to marry?" I demanded bluntly. His expression turned into amusement. "Oh, aye. I knew that."

"But surely," I said, "a young man like yourself; I mean, isn't there anyone else you're, ah, interested in?" He looked blank for a moment, then understanding dawned. "Oh, am I promised? Nay, I'm no much of a prospect for a girl." He hurried on, as though feeling this might sound insulting. "I mean, I've no property to speak of, and nothing more than a soldier's pay to live on." He took a breath, and plucked a blade of grass. "Then there's the minor difficulty that I've a price on my head. No father much wants his daughter married to a man as may be arrested and hanged any time. Did ye think of that?" He looked up at me concern spreading on his face.

"But you've only known me for two months. Does it bother you that you don't know where I came from? You have no clear idea of who I am?"" I tried. He smiled again.

"Aye, but I feel I've come to know yer character in that time. I've seen ye fight with men to keep 'em healthy. I've seen ye sacrifice with women to keep em calm. I've seen ye put yourself in harm's way, for those ye barely knew. Ye've a keen mind, a fair heart."

"A foul temper." I interjected.

"Aye, and a sailor's mouth." He chuckled. "It wouldna be a bad match, I think. Besides, what kind of friend and protector would I be if I let you fall back into the hands of that mad bastard Randall? I summoned ye here, and swore to protect ye. It'd make it an easier task if we were married."

I took a deep breath, looking out at the greenery. There was one last thing, to try and deflect him.

"Does it bother you that I was married before? That I'm not a virgin?" I asked, bluntly. He hesitated a moment before answering.

"Well, no," he said slowly, the tips of his ears tinging pink. "so long as it doesna bother you that I am." He grinned at my drop-jawed expression, and stood up. "Reckon one of us should know what they're doing."

And he was off, headed towards the tree line. I made my way back inside and up the stairs. I felt both heavier and lighter. This had certainly been a day of confusing opposites and contrasts. Civility and cruelty, speed and patience, illegal legality... I stepped into the room, where the men sat, almost as in a tableau.

"Give it here then." The papers duly signed, I made my way back down the inn's steep stairs and over to the bar table in the taproom. "Whisky," I said to the rumpled old creature behind it. He glared obliged with a bottle and glass. The latter was thick and greenish, a bit smeared, with a chip out of the rim, but it had a hole in the top, and that was all that mattered at the moment. Once the searing effect of swallowing the stuff had passed, it did induce a certain spurious calmness. I felt detached, noticing details of my surroundings with a peculiar intensity: the small stained-glass inset over the bar, casting colored shadows over the ruffianly proprietor and his wares, the curve of the handle on a copper-bottomed dipper that hung on the wall next to me, a greenbellied fly struggling on the edges of a sticky puddle on the table. With a certain amount of fellow-feeling, I nudged it out of danger with the edge of my glass. I gradually became aware of raised voices behind the closed door leading to the outside. Dougal had disappeared to find Jamie after the conclusion of his business with me, presumably to firm up arrangements with the other contracting party. I was pleased to hear that, judging from the sound of it, my intended bridegroom was cutting up rough, despite his apparent lack of objection earlier. Perhaps he hadn't wanted to offend me.

"Christ I need a nap." I said, after finishing my meager drink, and disappeared upstairs. I carefully took my dress off, peering at my chest in the dirty mirror. There was already a bruise forming on my rib. Some blushing bride I'd be. I slipped on a large blanket, and a belt, over my light shift. I was appropriately covered, but there was no pressure on my rib. I left the solace of my room, to find the inn purely filled with my travelling companions, and no unrecognized faces, aside from the barkeeper. They were used to my strangeness. I tucked myself into a corner, to watch the crew I'd decided to save this afternoon. I could have told Randall what I knew, about these men and their Jacobite revolution. I could have probably saved myself pain, time, and apparently a marriage.

I thought about the first time I'd been married. It had been fast, private, romantic, and certainly as spontaneous as this one was going to be. This time I had the benefit of hindsight, but also the unfamiliarity of my circumstances. Another contrast in my day.

I had been at the table only a few minutes before I decided that I was done thinking, watching and feeling for the day. Although the sun hadn't officially set, I needed today to be over. I clambered back upstairs, remembering Jamie asleep at my door, and smiled. On my way into bed however, I remembered my Frank, lounging lazily in bed with an iPad, and plaid pyjamas. Widowed people often remarried, I told myself. There was no need to feel guilty.

Though apparently there was no need for guilt, the tears that hit my pillow as soon as my head did, told a different story.


	19. Chapter 19

When I woke it was so early it was still dark. The light golden haze of the eastern sky showed that dawn was near, but the stillness in the birds, and even the trees themselves told me that it was still time to sleep. I used the fire to check my bruise again - darker, more defined around the edges, but not bad - and then made to relieve myself. When I opened my door, there was a lump of tartan dozing at my doorstep. It was not Jamie I found this time, but Murtagh. He glowered at me, as though him sleeping outside my room was my fault.

"Where ye goin'?"

"To urinate, defecate, and bathe before the rest of you scoundrels wake up."

I was in nothing but a white shift, blanket and shoes, with a small bar of soap, so Murtagh knew I wasn't going very far. He grumbled and stood up, following me as I made my way down the stairs. He walked me into the woods, where a small stream trickled, and leaned up against a nearby tree, facing away, scowling still.

"Can I have your shaving knife? I asked. Murtagh eyed me suspiciously.

"I'll be using it to shave, not cut my throat." I assured him.

"Shave what? Ye've n'air on yer face." He inspected. I blushed slightly.

"Where I come from, generally, women's armpits and legs are bare." It seemed silly, but again, if I was getting married today, I wanted to feel clean. Murtagh looked as though I'd told him the sky was orange, but handed over his knife anyway and resumed his watch into the forest.

"Seems unnatural to me." Murtagh commented disdainfully, as I stripped, bathed to the best of my ability under the circumstances. I did my best in the early morning light to shave, and clean my teeth. I knew up in my pack I had mint leaves, and that would do to help with the freshness, but I sure as hell missed toothpaste. The simplest things I took for granted before were things I missed now. Hot baths, water on demand, toilet paper, toothpaste. These were all things I had lived without many times in my life, and I didn't _need_ them. But now, particularly on the morning of my wedding, I was feeling their absences.

"You've known Jamie for a long time, right?" I asked. Murtagh went to look at me, then remembered he wasn't supposed to be, and shuddered himself back away.

"Aye."

"Is...would he...do you think that he's actually alright, marrying me?" I asked, gently. The words, the concept, seemed alien and unusual, but in the early morning it felt easier to talk about. Murtagh froze still for a while before he answered. It gave me time to dress, slip my shoes on, and return to him, freezing cold, but cleaner than I had been in a few days. I handed over his knife, freshly wiped and rinsed, and he eyed it suspiciously.

"There isna man or woman on God's Earth that could make a man like Jamie do somethin' he dinna feel right doin'. Except mebbe his sister." Murtagh looked straight into my eyes, his dark and piercing. "So stop yer haverin." I smiled at his rebuttal, tacked on at the end of the reassurance.

"Not even you?" I asked.

"He takes my counsel, but his mind's his own." Murtagh clarified. "There's been many a time I boxed his ears fer bein' an arse."

We walked silently back to the inn, me shivering, and contemplating crawling into the fireplace when I got back up to my room. We got there, and Murtagh made to settle down outside.

"You may as well come in. Leave the door open if you're worried about my reputation and all that." I said. "I'll be awake, and by the fire. Some company would be nice."

Murtagh hesitated, and then followed me in, settling into the musty armchair by the window. I curled up on the stone, sitting in a meditation pose in front of the fire to warm myself.

"What I wouldn't give for a marshmallow right now." I sighed.

"Eh?"

"It's a... sweet, where I'm from. Mostly sugar, but treated in such a way that it's fluffy and spongy in consistency. You can put them on sticks and roast them in fires." I explained. "I think I've got a sudden craving because it was the snack we had right before Anna and Joe's wedding." I sat quietly for a minute.

"Ye miss them." Murtagh stated, folding his hands on his stomach.

"I do." I smiled sadly. "Anna would have a field day about all this. She'd be glowing with happiness. She's very impulsive, rebellious, spiritual... the opposite of Joe. He's calculating, clever, and skeptical about everything."

"And ye dinna think they left word?"

I was a little surprised that Murtagh was not only responding to me, but continuing our conversation. A man normally speaking less than a half dozen sentences in a day, he was being kind, supportive, trying to ease my nerves with conversation. All in all, I likened it to what I thought Uncle Lambert might have done, on the night before my wedding Frank - if he had been alive. I'd not really had a father figure to just spill my nerves to, and I certainly hadn't expected it to be dark, brooding Murtagh. I heard a loud yawn, and some floorboards creak, and Rupert walked into the room. Clearly it was his turn to relieve Murtagh, but Murtagh didn't move. Rupert sat at the table I'd signed my marriage certificate on yesterday. I smiled a good morning, and continued with my story.

"I don't think I'll find word of their traveling plans, no. But it's not from lack of care about me, it's more about the kind of people they are. Anna and Joe are constantly moving forward... swept through life on an intense wave of curiosity and purpose." I rolled my shoulders, and thought back to our travels thus far, to my friends. "Joe Abernathy, I met while I was studying, and we traveled across parts of Asia and Africa together, doing healing work, learning about cultures, places, animals. It was amazing. He's an incredible mind, speaks twelve languages. Anna on the other hand, is beautiful, isolated, rich. Well-meaning and caring, but no concept of the value of money. She actually asked Joe to marry her." I mused, lost in my own memories.

"We were in a small town in South Africa at the time, and we actually had to go to three different churches before they could wed, because the pastors didn't want Anna marrying a black man." I scowled at the memory. Joe and Anna had been unfazed, but the reaches of the long dissolved Aparthied into the small communities were still particularly strong. "The church we ended up in, actually had a menagerie of animals inside. There were a half dozen baboons on the roof when we went in..." I stopped, looking up, to see if I needed to explain what a baboon was, and was met by a shocked gaze from Rupert and an amused one from Murtagh.

"What?"

"So there we have it. The real reason ye dinna think ye'll find yer companions." Rupert said, scoffing. I was still slightly lost, so I stayed silent. "A scandalous marriage between a noblewoman and a slave. Did ye smuggle them out of the country lass? Ye said ye were on the road to Inverness."

And it came crashing down on me. I'd admitted Joe was black, and Anna was white. It was something I had never really seen - they were just Joe and Anna to me. The 'ridiculous' part of my story, that I found atrocious and racist, was in fact, highly frowned upon in this time. It was precisely the kind of scandalous item that would get a highborn lady kicked out of house and home. I swallowed, keeping quiet.

"I'm not gonna arrest ye lass. Go on wi' yer story." Rupert said, relaxing much as Murtagh was, hands folded over his gut. It took me a moment to refocus. Where had I been?

"So... The church was filled with animals when they got married. Anna was thrilled. Joe hardly noticed, he was so happy. I've now got an irrational fear of baboons though." I shuddered. I thought about them for a moment, and concluded my story as best I could. "They travel forwards, always adventuring, and now that they have each other, they're in their own little slice of heaven. I know I'll be missed, and fretted about, but I don't think I'll be seeing them again."

The room fell silent for a few minutes.

"There'll no' be baboons today." Murtagh finally said. I laughed.

"Unless you count _you_ lot."

Rupert began a story about how one of the other men had been quite monkey like, and I forgot my worries and woes for a while. He was a born storyteller, like most Scots, and he in particular had a knack for making stories both entertaining and adding enough embellishment that the line between reality and fantasy was blurred. It was quite bright in my room by the time breakfast noises arose from downstairs, and the men excused themselves to get food. I wasn't hungry. I rifled through my pack, and found my mint leaves, chewing them, and using my water flask to rinse afterwards. A scurry of activity downstairs, and Dougal's booming voice told me that the men were being assigned duties. What was I supposed to do today, other than get married? Remembering my time period, and the superstitious Scots I was surrounded by, I doubt I'd be let anywhere near Jamie.

Murtagh actually helped with that. He stomped into the room, put down a bottle of whiskey, threw a book at me, and said "Stay put. We'll fetch ye later." I picked up the book and was about to open it when Murtagh popped back in. "And I mean stay here. In this room. Not on the roof, or downstairs."

And he was gone again. I was grateful to have something to occupy my time with, and began reading. The book itself was dull and confusing - but it gave me something to do. I soaked my hand in cool water, I read the book, and also worked comfortably into the whiskey. I had a nap at around noon. I was woken by a flurry of activity and two women I'd never seen before. They pulled me awake, and shut the door, laying a massive silver dress down on the bed. I almost laughed. Jamie had met me in silver, how ironic that he would be wedding me in it too. It was a complicated and heavy dress, that pressed painfully on my rib but it looked quite fine, and delicate and the same time. I wondered where they had possibly dragged it out from, and then decided that perhaps those were better questions to ask later. The women pinned up my hair and managed to help me get down the stairs of the inn. The shoes that accompanied the dress were tight, and awkward, but the women refused to let me wear the ones I'd broken in over the journey here. When I was down in the main inn, the women wrapped a massive dark travelling cloak around me. It felt large enough for a horse. They left me alone for two seconds, to go and fetch someone, and I quickly kicked my shoes under the table. I hardly wanted to look drunk, staggering into a church in awkward shoes and my already fairly awful balance. I walked forward, towards the door, and then stopped.

My stomach had somersaulted. Where before I had felt quite clinically detached, it had suddenly come crashing down upon me, and now I felt as though I was being handed to an executioner. What on earth was I getting myself into? I had no time to process, or think, because at that moment, the door swung open and Dougal MacKenzie stood, to escort me to the church. The road to the church was a mix of soft grass and gravel, so I avoided the gravel as much as humanly possible. Only Murtagh noticed my eyes watching the ground for potential perils. Dougal stood me outside the church, and went to fetch someone, or something. Murtagh leaned in.

"Are ye without shoes again lass?" he asked.

"I didn't like the other ones." I whispered back. He smirked and stepped back. I tried to breathe deeply, but the corset was uncomfortable, and pushing in on my rib. I winced, and then looked up, to make sure no one had seen me, and lost the little breath I had. In the moment I had looked up to watch Dougal return, and he had moved aside to reveal my groom. Jamie was almost unrecognizable. His usual healthy level of Scottish working man dirt had disappeared, his hair had been combed back. He was wearing an unfamiliar tartan, and it was wrapped in a majestic sheath around his shoulder, his silver 'Je Suis Prest' badge visible. He looked bigger somehow. Normally trying to remain invisible, today he stood with the majesty of a king. I felt a tugging at my neck, and realised that Murtagh had begun pulling away my travelling cloak. I unfastened the clasp, and the silver dress was unsheathed in much the way a sword would be from a scabbard. The men around me all nodded, smiling, approvingly, taken by my beauty. My head felt light, and dizzy.

I stared up into Jamie's eyes as he approached, and found bravery there. What happened next was confusing, as most of it was in Gaelic. We stood before a priest in the candlelight of the church. The room was both musty and cool, and I found it helped my concentration. I tried to take small breaths, to avoid hurting my rib too much, and as we stood unmoving, I was fine. There was the traditional "I take thee..." which was in English, and I finally learned Jamie's whole name. James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser. Suddenly Dougal stepped forward, out of the line beside us, and took out his blade. He held my injured hand firmly, pulling tears out of my eyes, and sliced into my wrist, repeating the action on Jamie. I must have swayed a bit, because Jamie gripped my elbow with his free left hand. His hands were as cold as ice, and it occurred to me that despite his confident demeanour, he was probably as nervous - if not more than I. This was, after all, his first wedding.

"Bear up lass." he assured. "It's not long now. Say the words after me."

"What?" I asked, breathing shallowly, feeling stinging pain in my hand, my wrist, my ribs.

"Repeat after me, Sassenach." Jamie urged gently. He went slowly, patiently, and clearly, bit by bit. I repeated as best I could, but I could tell by the snigger from one of the men that I had butchered it.

"Is tu fuil 'o mo chuislean, is tu cnaimh de mo chnaimh.

Is leatsa mo bhodhaig, chum gum bi sinn 'n ar n-aon.

Is leatsa m'anam gus an criochnaich ar saoghal."

And then there was silence. The priest, probably for my benefit, finalised the transaction in English with the age-old phrase. "You may now kiss your bride."

Jamie and I reached forward equally. I had pretended to kiss him in the stables before, so the closeness to him was not new, but the actual kiss, this binding of a contract, this merging of two people, was far more powerful than I had intended. We leaned into each other, and it was only when I heard a cat-calling whistle that I pulled away. Jamie looked amused, happy, a little red in the face. I felt lightheaded, which on top of my already spinning vision and painful body parts I figured probably wasn't a good thing. I gripped his offered arm like iron, and we made our way out, through the crowd of merry men, with the two women from before attached to two of them. I turned my head to look behind us, and the world kept spinning. I felt like one of Anna's fidget spinners - caught in the traps of momentum. I saw a brilliant patch of emerald grass, and then blackness.

When I woke up, moments later, I could see only the grey tumultuous clouds of the sky, and I could hear that Jamie was shooing people.

"Get off. She's my wife. I'll tend her. We'll be in shortly ye..." whatever word came next I missed in a long, slow blink that blotted noise out too. When my eyes next opened, it was a concerned dark blue pair that stared back down at me.

"That bad was it?" He asked, but he looked concerned.

"I can't breathe." I whispered. "My rib..." Jamie's face lit with understanding.

"If ye can make it back to the room Sassenach, ye can get out of the corset." Jamie reassured me. "I'd do it here, but the town'd assume we couldna be bothered to make it back to the inn."

"No, I'm fine. Help me up." With quite some effort he tugged me up, being careful to avoid my hand and wrist. I looked at it miserably. My knuckles were bruised from Randall's boot, and now my wrist slit open as well.

"I thought it mighta been that, that set ye faint." Jamie confessed nervously. "It certainly isn't blood ye've a problem with, so the pain maybe? I didna think to warn ye about it. Didna realise ye weren't expecting it until I saw your face."

"I haven't eaten since yesterday, and I hurt in like nine places, and I can barely breathe without this dress stabbing my rib." I explained. We walked, his arm wrapped tightly, and supportively around my waist.

"And Murtagh says ye've got no shoes again?"

"Yeah well, I had to keep it interesting, right?" I smiled.

"I've not a lot to offer a wife, but a warm hearth, a proper pair of shoes and a good meal seems a bonny start."

When we walked into the inn, all the men were there, cheering, and celebrating already. One of them was descending the stairs to our room.

"I left ye a few bottles o the good stuff in there, but we'll be just outside if ye need us!" He laughed. There was a modest wedding feast on the table that I diverted my attention to, to avoid blushing. I was handed a plate, pre-loaded with fruits, meats, cheeses and bannock, by Dougal, who lead me to the stairs.

"Do yer duty, and make no doubt that this marriage is legal." He stared intently at me, until I nodded, and then turned around to ask for a drink. Jamie made his way through the rowdy thrall to me, and took my plate.

"Grab yer dress, Sassenach. I'll bring the food."

It was indeed an ordeal getting the heavy garment up and out of my way. I was infinitely glad of my decision not to wear shoes, as my stocking-clad feet helped me feel out the stairs under the volume of skirts I was trying to hold up mostly with one hand. When I finally got into the room, Jamie shuffled in behind me, setting the plate of food down on the table. He swept in behind me, to pull the laces undone. He stopped when he reached the bottom few, not wanting to continue without permission.

"Go on, I've got three layers to get through before we get embarrassed about anything." I encouraged. Slipping out of the heavy overlay, I worked myself at loosening - but not removing - the laces of the corset underneath. I sat down, excited about my ability to breathe without pain, and smiled. Jamie too, unwrapped himself to a degree of comfort, until he was down to a simple shirt and his kilt.

"I'm going ta grab some food fer myself. And - Christ - I've ta tell Dougal..." Jamie disappeared in a flash, and I looked around my suddenly empty room. Downstairs there were two dozen men, happily engaged in drinking and eating in celebration, and there was already some kind of singing going on. There were a few taunts and jeers, Gaelic, but I got the gist. I focused instead on the room I'd been trapped in for most of the day. Suddenly it seemed like a safe haven. It was quiet, peaceful, open and surprisingly warm. I saw the small discarded book by the fire, and walked over to pick it up. I set it carefully on the bedside and focused on the awkwardness ahead.

My first time had been with Frank. In the years I was married to him we were plenty adventurous, whenever we actually got the chance to see each other. After his death, although my own sex life had evaporated, the addition of Anna into my social circle meant I was kept - er, up to date - on any new developments in that department. I'd never deflowered anyone before, and I remembered how gentle Frank had been with me. He'd taken some of the lead, in positioning, and left most of the initial exploring up to me. After that, he had slowly worked in his knowledge and... well proficiency, until we were both enjoying ourselves. I looked up, meaninglessly at the sky, praying that someone would impart the strength and knowledge to figure out what to do as we went along.

I sat down, and began eating some of the food on the plate.


	20. Chapter 20

When Jamie walked back in, he had a mouthful of food, and, grabbing a bunch of grapes off of his plate, threw the plate down the stairs, to a chorus of laughter. He shut the door behind him, smirking, and then stood, cautiously looking at me.

"I don't suppose they're going to bed anytime soon, are they?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"Well, no." Jamie admitted. "Not until they know we've made things official." He added the grapes to my plate of food, and took off his sword belt.

"I suppose I should be thankful they don't want to watch."

"Only Rupert," He smiled, and added: "and Angus."

I looked up at him, trying to force my face to withhold my smile, but it didn't work, I snorted in an unladylike fashion, and Jamie joined me in laughter. He stood, still beside his belt, clearly nervous about how to proceed. Join the club bud.

"Ye dinna need to be afraid of me. I wasna going to jump on ye."

"I didn't think you would," I laughed, spotting the bottles of alcohol behind him. "Perhaps a drink to get comfortable first?" I asked. We poured out two glasses of some kind of wine, and he raised a toast to me.

"To a lady of grace, a woman of strength, and a bride of unimaginable beauty." I blushed, and looked down at my feet, drinking shyly. Smooth as fuck. He'd literally made my brain go blank. Food. Food would help. I stood up, walking over to the armchairs by the fire with my plate of food.

"So what have you been up to today?" I asked, sitting as gracefully as I could manage, while simultaneously eating and balancing my plate. Jamie relaxed a little, coming to join me by the fire. He tugged off his boots, so he could sit cross legged like I was, and reached for my plate. I placed it between us, and studied him. He was very attractive. I wasn't generally the type to fantasize, but I'd seen his rippling muscles, and when he peered up at me from under his lashes... Perhaps tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Well, I went and got myself married..." He started. I threw a grape at his head, smiling in spite of myself. "Ack, well... in the morning I was searching for Murtagh for a while. Sent Rupert to find him, then lost him as well."

"Sorry - that was my doing. I got talking." I chuckled.

"Aye. I heard."

"What did you need him for?" I asked.

"Well that's complicated." He answered, scrunching up his face. "I dinna really start at the beginning. What were you doing today?"

"Reading about the economic importance of barley to the highland clans, its cultivation, harvesting, storage and preparation for food."

Jamie looked at me with startled confusion and concern.

"Perhaps I didn't start at the beginning either." I smiled. And so I began my day, telling him idle things, like chatting with Murtagh during my bath, reading the boring book, all the way through to being "rudely awoken by two strange women who stuffed me cruelly into a silver tent, and hurried me out the door."

Jamie looked over at the dress, laying beautifully on the bed. "It's a fine dress. Suits ye, with yer history and all."

"I haven't the slightest idea where they found it." I mused.

"And that's where a bit of my evening, and day, comes in Sassenach." Jamie leaned back onto a chair. "It started yesterday when I agreed to marry you..."

"Why did you agree to marry me? Dougal didn't really give me much of a choice in the matter, but you..." I trailed off.

"Are ye gonna keep interruptin?" Jamie laughed. "I'll never reach the point."

"Sorry." I blushed, reclining myself.

"I dinna have much choice either." Jamie began his story again. He told me about how Ned and Dougal had presented my case, how Ned had been careful and clinical, while Dougal had been calculating and callous. Jamie did a very respectable impression of Dougal actually.

"She took a fair few blows at the hands of Randall and kept silent about it, which is more than I'd expect from any ordinary woman. But you know Randall, you know what he's capable of. What do ye think will happen if she falls into his hands again?" He mocked. "As I said yesterday Sassenach, what kind of protector would I be if I hadna married ye?"

"So you married me to keep me safe?"

"Aye. That's the gist of it." He looked at me with that strange, kingly intensity again. "You have my name, my clan, my family, and if necessary, the protection of my body as well. I summoned ye into this world, I'll damn well sure you're safe in it."

I could see the weight of that promise. Randall was right. The truth carried a weight that everyday speech did not. Jamie meant every word.

"I thought you perhaps just wanted to finish what we started in the stables." I smiled, meekly.

"I canna deny I'd not considered it." He chuckled, blushing. I looked down, at the ring on my hand. It was silver, strange, beautiful. I supposed that would be a part of his story too. It contrasted so much with the ring I had received from Frank. His was smooth, elegant, simple, whereas Jamie's was rough, and patterned, complicated like him.

"Tell me about yer husband."

My breath caught in my throat. I looked up at him, confused.

"Ye've been married before Sassenach, it would make sense that he'd be on yer mind today. Not to mention your face is an open book if ye know what ye're looking for."

I told him. I told him all about Frank, and how different he was. I talked about how he resembled Black Jack, and the mental struggle I'd had to undergo to separate the two. I talked about how everything about Jamie was completely different to everything about Frank.

"I think it makes it easier, in some ways..." I trailed off. "I mean, it doesn't feel like I'm trying to replace him."

"You haven't got siblings." Jamie stated suddenly. "My father used to say that he didn't think there was any room left in his heart for another child, and that with each new bairn it felt like he'd gotten a whole new heart too. I'd imagine it's like that. Ye can probably care for one person, and another, without either affecting the other."

It was quite a wise argument.

"You're probably right." I smiled. "For a man of 23, you're quite well spoken."

"Aye." his thoughts drifted off for a moment, into a memory. "Can I ask something of you, before I go on with the tale of my day?"

"Of course."

"There are things that you canna tell me, and things that I canna tell you, at least not yet. I'll ask nothing of ye that ye canna give me. But what I would ask, is that when we do speak to each other, it is with honesty. We have nothing now between us save respect, and I think that respect has room for secrets, but not for lies."

He spread out his hand, palm up, towards mine. I took it with my good one, entangling my fingers shyly into his.

"I promise to be honest with you Jamie."

"And I, you." He smiled. "Anyway... I was telling ye about my day."

He wove a wondrous tale full of kind gestures and sweet words from the men. Ned had visited a brothel to find my dress, and as embarrassed as I was I knew that I would have paid to see that interaction. Rupert and Angus had taken a key from Jamie to get made into a wedding ring. Murtagh had traveled to a nearby town to fetch the 'Fraser' plaid for Jamie's outfit. It was humbling that they'd gone through it all, though Jamie hadn't given them much of a choice - they had been conditions on him accepting the marriage.

"Can I ask why Dougal let you set so many conditions, and went through all the effort of following them? I would have thought that after you'd demanded all that he'd just ask Rupert or something instead." I asked. He smiled seriously.

"Actually that has to do with who I am. Remember the Gathering? The allegiance I was asked to swear?"

"Yeah..." I said.

"Well, now that I'm married to a Sassenach, it wouldn't matter what Colum would prefer, his tennants wouldna want an English woman being their Laird's lady."

I swallowed in understanding. "So Dougal wasn't only asking you to solve _my_ problem, he was trying to hit two birds with one stone."

"Exactly."

I felt shy, and ashamed. Our plate of food was only half finished but I was suddenly not hungry. I had potentially altered the course of this man's life in many more ways than one. "I hope I prove worth it."

"Ye already have Claire." Jamie assured me.

Suddenly, the door to my room burst open, and Angus and Rupert stumbled in. They were trying to be nosy, trying to be funny, I wasn't really sure, but I was instantly angry, rather than embarrassed as any decent lady probably should have been. I sprung up, grabbing the plate, tumbling the food inadvertently onto the floorboards. I whipped it like a frisbee, straight at the lead man - Angus's - stomach. He doubled over and the plate ricocheted back towards me. I bent to pick it up again.

"How _dare_ you!?"

"Ooff. Ack woman! Dougal sent us up to see..." I whipped the plate again. Angus scooped out of the way and this time it hit Rupert's chest.

"Get _out_!"

"Christ! We're under orders, ye see!" Rupert yelled, and they both eyed me warily - my ammunition was safely out of my reach, but I was working towards it. Jamie rushed forward to my aid also, and the two of them scrambled out of the door almost as quickly as they'd entered.

Jamie and I took a long look at the door, and then each other. We both laughed at the intrusion. They weren't going to leave us alone until we did... well, _finish_ , the wedding. I looked over to the bed.

"Perhaps we should..."

"Well first, you don't intend on sleeping in all that now do ye?" He motioned towards all my extra layers.

"No." I smiled shyly.

"I could help ye. With the laces and such." He, for all the king that he had looked earlier, looked shy now. I spun around, feeling a small bout of purpose. One step at a time.

"Skirts first." I said, helpfully.

He untangled the laces at the back, his hands trembling, and helped me step out of the first skirt. We untied the 'bum bag' as I'd gotten to calling it, next, then pulled off the laces to the corset I'd loosened earlier. As it fell I breathed deeply, and winced.

"Are ye still hurt from Randall?" Jamie asked, worried at my expression.

"I'll answer that in a second. Your turn." I smiled, and turned to tug on his belt. It was a surprisingly difficult item to get off, a kilt. Twelve feet of fabric, all wrapped up and complicated. When he was just in his shirt, and I just in my shift.

"I want to apologize, husband," I said, trying to work the nervousness out of my voice. "But today you've purchased some damaged goods." I unlaced the front of my shift with one tug, letting it slide down my arms, and crumple to the floor. Jamie's throat bobbed with a swallow. His hands came gently up, resting on my arms first, tracing inwards to the bruise left on my ribs.

"You needn't be sorry. I've never seen anything so beautiful in my life."

I tugged at his shirt, and he unfastened the sleeves, yanking it over his head. This time it was my throat that swallowed. He was a truly handsome man, and seeing him in all his glory reminded me of marble carvings, muscular details etched into his skin.

We took time exploring each other. My hands traced his body, as I walked around my new husband, studying him. And then his hands traced mine. He pressed me firmly to him suddenly, and I could feel that he was more than ready to get on with the business at hand. I was ready too. In fact, I wanted him quite badly. I pulled him down, crawling backward onto the bed. He gingerly kissed me, leaning on his elbows at first, remembering my rib. Suddenly he stood up, and attempted to turn me around. I shook my head.

"Oh no, not this time. I want to be close to you." I said, keeping my position underneath, and facing him. I put my hands behind his neck and pulled him down on top of me. I ignored my ribcage for a moment - Jamie had other, pressing concerns right now, and hardly needed a lecture. I guided him to the slippery cleft between my legs.

"Holy God," said James Fraser, who never took the name of his Lord in vain. He pushed into me, more and more of his weight on top.

"Jamie, you're crushing me." I managed to whisper. He got back up onto his elbows, but kept most of himself as attached to me as possible. I returned in kind, raising my own body to meet his, to the best of my ability. Our first episode was short, but I had half expected that. It's not that I had the most amazing body or technique - I'd hardly done anything - but Jamie's inexperience. I didn't begrudge him for it. This was a learning process for both of us. Frank had been smooth, sophisticated, practiced. I had never felt like I was missing anything. Jamie had given me all of himself in that moment. His own mother could have walked into the room and he wouldn't have noticed. He had immersed himself in me, physically and emotionally, and that... that was incredible.

We lay, side by side on the bed afterward. He opened his mouth to say something, and then didn't. He opened it again, and then stopped.

"Unless your post-sex ritual is goldfish charades I think you have something you want to say?" I asked. He shook his head, staring shyly at the ceiling.

"Was it like you thought it would be?" I asked curiously. He chuckled, and looked at me briefly, before looking away again.

"Almost; I had thought—nay, never mind."

"No, tell me. What did you think?"

"I'm no goin' to tell ye; ye'll laugh at me."

"I promise not to laugh. Tell me." He looked over at me, and caressed my hair, smoothing the curls back from my ear.

"Oh, all right. I didna realize that ye did it face to face. I thought ye must do it the back way, like; like horses, ye know."

Almost as soon as all the words were out of his mouth, I was burying my face into a pillow, giggling. "I'm sorry. I said I wouldn't laugh."

"I know that sounds silly," he said defensively, smiling. "It's just…well, ye know how you get ideas in your head when you're young, and then somehow they just stick there?"

"Did I squash you?" he asked, a little anxiously, touching my bruise, gingerly.

"Not much, I'm a brave girl."

"I want to ask ye something," he said, running a hand down the length of my back.

"Mmm?"

"Did ye like it?" he said, a little shyly.

"Yes, I did," I said, quite honestly. "I did very much."

"Oh. I thought ye did, though Murtagh told me that women generally do not care for it, so I should finish as soon as I could."

"What would Murtagh know about it?" I said indignantly. "The slower the better, as far as most women are concerned."

Jamie chuckled again. "Well, you'd know better than Murtagh. I had considerable good advice offered me on the subject last night, from Murtagh and Rupert and Ned. A good bit of it sounded verra unlikely to me, though, so I thought I'd best use my own judgment."

"Advice? What kind of advice did they give you?" His skin was a ruddy gold in the candlelight; to my amusement, it grew still redder in embarrassment.

"I could no repeat most of it. As I said, I think it's likely wrong, anyway. I've seen a good many kinds of animals mate with each other, and most seem to manage it without any advice at all. I would suppose people could do the same."

We talked for a little, about the animals he'd seen mate, and I talked about some of the unusual 'deflowering' ceremonies or rituals I had seen through my travels. Suddenly he reached forward, slowly to meet my lips again.

"I know once is enough to make it legal, but…" He paused shyly.

"You want to do it again?"

"Would ye mind verra much?" I didn't laugh this time, but I felt my ribs creak under the strain.

"No," I tried to say gravely. "I wouldn't mind."


End file.
